


One Minute to Midnight

by Einn Holten (shadowprincess543)



Series: The Door to Eternity Duology [1]
Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, I like fics with an expiration date, Large Ensemble Cast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-02-04 13:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowprincess543/pseuds/Einn%20Holten
Summary: During an attempt to gain information about the mysterious Staff of Àchristos, Max Lightwood-Bane, Rafael Lightwood-Bane, and Will Carstairs accidentally open a Time Portal to London, 1903. They are forced to work together with the past versions of their family members to solve the mystery of how they arrived and how they can get back.





	1. Summoning

**Author's Note:**

> "A civilized man... can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way?" - H.G. Wells, The Time Machine

**_London, 1895_ **

          “When you get cured,” William Herondale began, “Because they will find a cure for you, I know it James.”

          Brother Zachariah, who had been Jem Carstairs stared back at his parabatai through closed eyelids. “ _I know you have hope.”_

          “You should as well. As I was saying, when you get cured,” he laughed through his words, “and you run off and marry my wife, you have to name your child after me.”

          Jem knew it was better than to argue with Will about these sorts of things. “ _I have to?”_

          “Yes, your first child. If you have a son, his name must be William.”

          “ _And if we have a daughter?”_

          “You can name a daughter Will!” His vibrant blue eyes were shining with amusement, and Jem loved the way they looked like the night sky when the moon was bright.

_“You can be truly insufferable when you try hard enough.”_

          “I am not trying to be insufferable!” Will protested. Even with their parabatai bond broken, they were still connected, the same soul in two bodies.

***

 

**_Devon, June 2013_ **

          Jem sat on the side of Tessa’s bed, holding his newborn daughter in his arms. Both of his girls were sleeping peacefully. Tessa was still tired from labor the day before. The baby, well, she was a baby.

          He thought about everything he had done in the years since he stopped being Brother Zachariah, when he was cured.

          “Will, you fool,” he whispered. “You were right all along.”

***

 

**_New York City, January 2037_ **

          Will Elizabeth Charlotte Carstairs-Gray preferred to be known as Will Carstairs. She’d been asked once, when she was fifteen, whether her name was short for Willow or Willa or even Wilhelmina. No, she was Will, just Will.

          She had been named after a bunch of long-dead people her parents had loved. Her mother was an immortal warlock, Tessa Gray, the only warlock capable of having children. Her father was a former Silent Brother, the only ex-Silent Brother. She came from a family of unique people, and yes she was unique herself.

          Music blared into her ears as she walked the chilly streets toward Rafael and Max Lightwood-Bane’s Brooklyn loft. She liked any music with a lead violin, but the perpetual drum and bass of this song was always known to lift her spirits.

          She reached the apartment and soared up the small flight of stairs. She twisted her key in the lock and slid the door aside.

          Max Lightwood-Bane looked up as she entered. “You’re late,” he declared. Max was a warlock, born of a human mother and a demon father, though he had been raised by Alec and Magnus after his mother had abandoned him on the steps of the Shadowhunter Academy in Idris, the Shadowhunter homeland.

          “Where’s Rafe?” She pulled her hat off and her headphones out of her ears.

          “Later than you.”

          Will took out her phone and pressed the shortcut to call him. It rang until it went to voicemail. “Get here.” She hung up.

          Max raised his blue eyebrows, a darker shade than his also blue skin. “Tell me, is his contact name in your phone ‘Daddy’ because he’s so much older than you?”

          “Says the slut.” Max was four years older than her, but because of immortality, they looked the same age. She might even look a little older now. Though he was older, she was the one further along in the game of life.

          She held up a hand then flipped it palm side toward her. She lowered all of her fingers but one. Then she showed him her phone screen. His contact name was _Rafe_ . “ _He_ ’s not Daddy.”

          Max shuddered. “You two are gross!”

          Will had grown up in three cities and a town, all at once: London, Los Angeles, New York, and her parent's house in Devon. She’d grown up running and playing with her much older brother-she-wasn’t-related-to Kit around the house in Devon, learned how to hold a sword in LA, and been a customer in every bookshop in London. She’d done most of her training in New York, at an awkward age younger than the Lightwood-Bane boys and older than the Herondales and the Lovelaces. Though she’d grown up with them, she had always thought there was a disconnect. That is, until two and a half years ago.

          When she was twenty-one, Will and Rafe had been sent to wipe out a pack of Raum demons in the Catskills. They’d run into complications and had been stuck for an entire weekend living on rations. He’d asked her out a week later.

          In the grand scheme of things, six years was nothing, a heartbeat, but it was enough for Max to make fun of them.

          “He lives here. How is he late?” she asked.

          “I sent him to get some last-minute ingredients.”

          Will eyed him warily. “I thought we had everything we needed.”

          “We did. I had to use the last of my bat fur to make an antidote for one of those color changing fairy drugs.”

          “You sent my fiancè to take a pair of scissors to a bat?”

          Max laughed. “No, but I’ll have to remember that for next time. Do you think we could get him to actually skin a snake?”

          “Maybe if he hadn’t received the same basic magic training as you.” Max and Rafe had been trained in both magic and Shadowhunter combat. Rafe was not a warlock, and therefore not a spellcaster, but he still had quite a talent for other magic arts.

          As if on cue, Rafe pushed the door open and walked through, carrying a small bag. He placed the bag on Max’s lap with mock aggression. “I’m back.” He turned to Will. “I’d kiss you, but I just had to buy these off a werewolf with disgusting sideburns and pit stains. I need to shower. _Dos veces_.”

          Max shrugged. “Go shower. It’s gonna take at least half an hour for me to set up.”

          “I’ll help,” Will offered. She was half warlock.

          Rafe blew her a kiss and raced away. They could still hear him muttering under his breath in Spanish about the werewolf.

          Rafe had been born in Argentina. His biological parents, both Shadowhunters, had died during the Dark War, and he had lived the first five years of his life on the streets of the Buenos Aires Shadow Market. Alec had met him on a mission with Lily Chen, co-head of the Shadowhunter-Downworld Alliance, and Will’s parents. Alec and Magnus had adopted him immediately.

          “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.

          Max hesitated. Will didn’t like that. “It’s not a good idea, but it’s not like we’re sixteen and stupid.” He had a point.

          “No, now we’re just stupid adults.” Max handed her a box of candles. She opened them and smelled the first one.

          “Is this,” she inhaled deeply. “Citrus?”

          “As always, my candles are vivaciously scented. I was raised by Magnus Bane.”

          She placed the citrus candle on the floor and pulled out the second one. This scent was different, softer. “Vanilla?”

          Max gave her a wicked grin. “Vanilla ice cream. We are casting an orange creamsicle spell.” Max and Will had casted lavender and cinnamon spells, and once a coconut summoning. Rafe had attended a green apple summoning once and thought they were both insane.

          Max was tracing a large pentagram on the floor in chalk. This was Max’s area of expertise. He had started painting with Aunt Clary as a child and she had kept tutoring him into adolescence. His pentagrams were indicative of his art, and he loved doing it. She watched him focus on the precise angles and intersections. Despite their jokes and mutual harassment, Max was her best friend.

          When he finished, he stepped back to let her place the candles, one at each point around the pentagram. He grabbed the bag of bat’s fur and brought it over to a small table already occupied by the other ingredients. Technically, this part was only for their peace of mind, just physical and herbal protections placed on them and the loft, just in case something went wrong. They had decided to use physical magic instead of more spells because physical magic would last, even if they did not.

          “If you make these now, are you gonna be strong enough?” Will knew the dangers of magic drain. Max was powerful, not as powerful as his father, but he held his own. Still, all warlocks were susceptible.

          “I’ll be fine.”

          Will was not a warlock by almost every definition. Her mother was, but she was not. She did, however, have her own gift. “Even with me drawing off of you?” Will was not a warlock in her own right, but she could draw magic from other warlocks to use for herself through physical contact. She had always been able to do it. Drawing on her mother’s energy in the womb had nearly killed them both on one occasion. It was how Tessa had discovered she was pregnant.

          “I said I’ll be fine, and I meant it.” He began mixing the ingredients in a ceramic bowl.

          Once he was done casting and charming, Will helped him separate it into small bags they would hide at the four corners and other energy points in the loft. Each bag held a miniature protection charm. This was more witch magic than warlock magic, but it worked, and it worked well. The other advantage to the bags was that they provided Max with an anchor when he put up the wards around the loft. Unless dismantled, nothing would be able to get in or out.

          They moved their attention back to the pentagram. Max handed her a lighter, and Will lit the first candle. Circling the pentagram, she carefully lit the other four, then stepped back to admire their handiwork.

          “Are you serious?” Rafe rolled his eyes as he came out of his bedroom. Will looked up when he spoke. He hadn’t combed his still damp hair, so it stuck up. Will felt her heart beat faster. It made him look even more attractive than usual. “We’re summoning a Greater Demon, not,” he sniffed the air. “Decorating for an ice cream social.”

          There were many Greater Demons: the Princes, who followed Lucifer out of Heaven and others who had occupied the Void long before, and those who were the children of Lilith, but still intelligent enough to hold the title. Summoning a Greater Demon was widely considered bad practice, particularly when the summoners were a warlock, a Shadowhunter, and a Shadowhunter-warlock. Said summoners, however, were doing it anyway.

          “I happen to like orange creamsicles,” Max defended. “Though they really aren’t good for an ice cream social where you could make sundaes.” Max liked anything orange. It was a consequence of being blue.

          “Come on Rafe, stop being such a downer!”

          “Oh no, he has to be the voice of reason.”

          Rafe snorted. “ _I_ am not the voice of reason. Tav is the voice of reason. That’s why we didn’t invite him.”

          Octavian Blackthorn was Rafe’s best friend besides Max. He was a couple years older that Rafe and decades more mature than anyone else. While Will and the Lightwood-Banes were preparing to break about a million laws and endanger their own lives, Tav was at home in LA with his wife and two children. They hadn’t told him their plan for good reason.

          “Yeah,” Max agreed. “Because he’s a real adult.”

          Max lifted his arms above his head, and the wards around the loft activated. They took their places around the pentagram. Will stood on one side with Max so she could draw on his energy, while Rafe stood on the other. Max reached out a hand, and Will took it.

          “I summon thee Kronos, demon titan, lord of time, master of the pendulum. By blood and power I summon thee.”

          The pentagram began to glow, and the flames on the candles roared nearly as tall as Will. She found herself gripping her friend’s hand out of fear and exhilaration. For a moment, time seemed to slow down. Then the candles returned to their previous height, and in the center of the pentagram was Kronos. The demon was fairly humanoid, though he stood twice as tall as Max. His skin was green and his eyes yellow. Tufts of what looked like black hair sprouted from his head.

          “Who dares summon me? I who reigned over the Earth before your kind came and spread your filth across its lands. I who lived before the founding of man, before the forbidden fruit was plucked. I am Kronos, king of Titans, lord of time, demon titan, master of the pendulum, killer of Aedeas the Great and Orvian the Wise, to name a few.”

          “Yes, yes, I believe I listed most of those,” Max replied in successfully feigned nonchalance.

          The demon looked Max over, then Will, then turned to glance at Rafe before returning his gaze to the other side of the pentagram. “Tell me, warlock, what grandeur, what illustrious purpose could you have for summoning me here?”

          “We’ve been on the hunt for a certain artifact. A man named McGuffin told me you were the last known owner.”

          “And what source does your power come from? Whose blood runs through your veins?”

          Max swallowed, but remained confidant. “I do not know my demon father, nor do I have any particular interest in his identity.”

          “And what of you, Nephilim girl? Whose blood mixed with your angel’s to form an abomination like you?”

          “One more powerful than you,” she replied. Her biological grandfather was a Prince of Hell, a fallen angel, one of the Fati.

          Kronos considered her. She wondered how much he knew about her, if he knew who her grandfather was. “Yes.” Clearly he did. “I don’t like Eidolon demons, even those of your grandfather’s,” the demon paused as if with disgust, “stature.”

          Max cleared his throat. The demon turned back to him.

          “Yes yes. I know. You want me to tell you where I stashed Àchristos’s _jibberstick_ before I got stabbed back to the Void, but didn’t your fathers ever tell you nothing comes without a price?”

          “We’re willing to offer you—”

          “I don’t care what you’re willing to offer me. I want freedom. I want to watch the waves from the sand on an Aegean beach. I want to feel the wind on my back from the top of Olympus. My freedom or no deal.”

          “Then no deal.”

          “Hmm,” Kronos performed a motion similar to a shrug. He began to pace getting dangerously close to the chalked pentagram. “Let’s make a different deal. You wipe this chalk away and I won’t kill you.”

          Max grinned. “My dads made me ‘resist demon wiles’ every night until I turned fifteen. You’re gonna have to try harder than that. You can’t get through the pentagram, no matter how powerful you are, oh demon titan.”

          “I’m the lord of time, warlock brat. I could simply move us all to a time when there were no useless lines of chalk cluttering your floor with a flick of my wrist.”

          “Could he actually do that?” Rafe called from the other side.

          “Every beat of your heart is a blink of my eyes, mortal. Tell me, have you considered what you’ll do if your half-warlock girlfriend stops aging?”

          Will sighed, and answered Rafe question, ignoring the demon’s taunts. “Probably, but he won’t. If he was going to, he would have done it already.” The demon repeated his shrug motion. “Though it begs the question: why? What do you want from us?”

          The demon let out a too human grin. He raised a fist and unfurled his curled fingers with a flourish in Will’s direction. “Smart girl.” He pushed his hand to the left and a Portal appeared. But it wasn’t a Portal like any they had seen before. Normal Portals were purple, this one swirled with purple and green. He pushed his hand again, directed at Max. Will, Max, and Rafe were blown off their feet and into the Portal.

***

          It was cold where they landed. Colder than the New York City streets they had come from, and they wore no coats. Will, Max, and Rafe landed hard on the streetside.

          “Ow,” Max announced.

          Will was the first to notice something was wrong. “Hey guys, take a look around us.” They did.

          “¡ _Reverendo hijo putas!_ ” Rafe cursed.

          “Demon son of a bitch!” Max agreed.

          The people around them were bundled in coats that had gone out of fashion more than a century before any of them had been born. The women wore dark-colored dresses and the men dark pants and overcoats. A boy shouted the evening post from a newspaper stand. People bustled along in a frozen hurry, dodging each other and the rolling fog.

          “Where are we?” Max asked.

          “When are we?” Rafe added.

          Will didn’t stop looking around the street. “London,” she whispered. “Edwardian.” She ran to the newspaper stand and picked up a paper.

          “Hey, you gotta buy that!” the boy yelled.

          “Shut up!” She threw the paper back on the pile and returned to Max and Rafe, fear growing in her stomach like mold. “1903. We’re in London in 1903.”


	2. Arrival and Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Max, and Rafe are trapped in 1903. An unexpected savior gives them shelter for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: If you are sensitive to any kind of depression or suicidal ideation, DO NOT read any of James's POVs.
> 
>  
> 
> “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” – L. P. Hartley

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          “Mam’s worried about you.” Lucie Herondale looked up from writing her book when James entered the library. He slumped in a chair next to her. “Is it true you led Magnus Bane on a wild goose chase around London all last night?”

          “No,” James replied, then a smile broke out on his face. “It was a wild _duck_ chase.” He was proud of that. He’d thought of it a few weeks ago and hadn’t had a chance to use it yet.

          “Jamie!”

          “It is not a cause for concern,” he protested. It was a cause for concern, but James was beyond caring what his family thought about his actions. He had started going out late at night after—after what had happened, after his heart had been ripped to shreds and his soul damned with it.

          “I am not concerned. I just wish you had brought me with you!” Lucie pouted.

          “I am _not_ bringing you to go drinking with the denizens of the Downworld!” James exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.”

          “I can hold my own against drunk Downworlders.” Drunk Downworlders weren’t what scared James when it came to Lucie in a tavern at night. What scared him was him, what he might do, and what he couldn’t do if she was with him.

          “I don’t doubt it, but it’s no place for you.”

          Lucie didn’t reply. She was lost in thought, her eyes glazed over, locked on the empty space between two of the bookshelves.

          “What are you thinking about?” he asked, hoping she was off the subject of his nightly escapades.

          “Mam.” That was not what he’d expected.

          “What about her?”

          “I’m thinking about a hundred, a thousand years in the future. Do you think she’s going to have more kids?”

          The thing about having an immortal mother was that she was going to outlive them. She was going to live centuries after they had been burned and turned to marble in the Silent City, experience the world again and again, and have another life without them.

          “Where did this come from?” he asked, hesitantly. He knew what he didn’t want her to say: that it was his fault.

          “You’re acting suicidal! It got me thinking.” Lucie fiddled with her pen, staining the tips of her fingers black with ink. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.

          “About what Mam’s gonna do after we die?” He feigned alarmed composure, pretending the morbid topic was appalling. It wasn’t hard because he felt numb. Numb because Lucie was scared for him, and he cared so much that he did not care. Love had damned him and he would not drag her down with him. Lucie was light where he was shadow. He was literally shadow. His death meant nothing, but Lucie’s...

          “Yes.” She broke him out of his mental spiral.

          “Lucie!” This time there was no act. He was horrified, trapped in a well of mental pictures of Lucie dying.

          “Do you think she will?”

          “I don’t know.” It would be good, he thought, if she had other children. Maybe it would be easier for her to forget about him.

          “We might have siblings in the future we will never meet!”

          He pulled himself out of his mental well. Lucie was being Lucie, ever thinking, ever wondering, ever dreaming, regardless of what people thought about her questions. He pulled himself out of the well and sat on the ledge, calming himself down the best he could.

          “You’re out of your mind, Lucie.”

***

 

**_London Streets, 1903_ **

          “So we’re fucked?” Rafe asked. The statement was accurate.

          “1903 was an interesting year,” Will replied. “A lot happened in 1903.”

          “Yeah a lot of good stuff and a lot of not good stuff,” Max added, feeling the need to contribute to the conversation.

          “The major ‘not good stuff’ is us being stuck here!”

          Will squashed her rising fear. She took stock of what was happening, what they knew, what was in their control, and what wasn’t. They were in London. She liked London. Her mother owned a flat in London. They were in 1903. This was less good. 1903 was more than a century ago, and they had no way to get back. It was winter, and she was very cold. It was 1903, and the three of them were dressed for 2037.

          “Clothes,” she announced. “We need period clothes.”

          “We need to find a way to get home,” Max said.

          “Yes, and we can’t do that without assimilating.” She unpocketed her stele and glamoured herself invisible to mundanes, then turned to Rafe. “Will you do crimes with me?”

          “I would be honored to do crimes with you.”

 

          Less than an hour later, after breaking into a clothing store, thanking Raziel for the invention of mass production prior to 1903, and Rafe trying three times to tie Will into a corset before Max stepped in and succeeded on his first attempt (a fact the other two silently agreed not to question), they stood back on the streets, dressed for 1903. Evening light had spread throughout the sky, signaling the oncoming night, and with it the chill of winter.

          Will, Max, and Rafe stood on the London streets wondering what they were going to do.

          “There’s always the Institute,” Rafe suggested, “if we have nowhere else to go.” He stroked his thumb down Will’s arm.

          “Ragnor Fell is High Warlock of London,” Max added. “I doubt unexpected time travel is the strangest thing he’s ever heard.”

          “We can’t,” Will whispered, staring off in the distance. Rafe followed her gaze to the distance. Near them, crossing the Thames river, was a bridge. “Ragnor will ask too many questions. Even though we have a warlock with us, he’ll wonder why two Shadowhunters would go to him before the Institute.” She didn’t move her eyes from the bridge in the distance. “I don’t know what I’d do if I met them.”

          Max and Rafe exchanged a glance in agreement. “We can always sleep on the street and start tomorrow.” Will didn’t respond, so Max snapped his fingers and three small bags appeared on the ground next to them. “I stole them from a shop down the road from where we got our clothes.”

          Inside the bags, they discovered, as they opened them in a back alley, were old-fashioned sleeping bags. Max snapped his fingers again and a tent big enough for the three of them appeared fully set up on the ground. Will raised an eyebrow in question. Max shrugged, “I might not have morals.”

          Max quickly glamoured the alley so that any passersby would see nothing but the dirty street and some distasteful accessories to dissuade them from trying to walk down it.

          Will removed her corset and the awkward parts of her dress, and they settled in lying on the hard ground. Max and Rafe resigned themselves to sleeping in their clothes.

          Sleep, however, was a stranger to them. Even as they lay with their eyes shut, they all stayed awake. Will, finally, burst into impromptu laughter. “Sorry, this is just ridiculous,” she wheezed in between laughs. The brothers laughed too.

          “A crazy demon sent us to 1903,” Max remarked.

          “Yeah what was up with that demon?” Rafe asked.

          “What was up with the fact that he spoke like a gay professor who’d been in prison for ten years?” Max added.

          “Gay supervillain,” Will suggested.

          Over their laughter, they missed the scratching of demon claws on the street beside them before it tore a hole through the thin canvas.

 

          James Herondale wanted to die. No, that wasn’t it. He did not _want_ to die, but he also didn’t care if he did. So he walked the London streets, knowing it was what his father used to do each night when he thought he was cursed. He walked down alleys and streets, and he wondered if he would be better off going back to the Devil Tavern to drink away his woes. On the other hand, he feared a repeat of last night.

          So he walked, hands in his pockets. He was armed, just in case, like any other Shadowhunter who ventured onto the streets at night. He wasn’t carrying a seraph blade, but he could decapitate any demon with his daggers or stab them in the right places. Death was death when it came to demons.

          Death was death when it came to humans.

          And Shadowhunters.

          He turned down an alley, heading towards the darkness of London, the backstreets that no one walked, too far back for even a prostitute to be working. The only things found here were the rats, ghosts, and shadows. James joined the shadows.

          Shadows were air that moved like liquid as he walked, trying to lose himself, but his thoughts kept coming up around him, surrounding him in the living dark. Mostly, he thought about Grace. He tried not to think about Grace, but it didn’t work. He thought about the way her hair glittered under witchlight, the flecks of blue in her grey eyes, the tambor of her voice—

          It was the crash that pulled James from his thoughts, the sound of conflict. Shadowhunter instincts kicked in and he ran towards the fight.

 

          Max attacked the demon first. He struck out with his magic and blasted the demon back into the side of the building. The demon stood back up and shook its body like a dog shaking off water. Rafe was up a moment later, then realized he was unarmed. He stepped back to let Max take the offensive. Max let out another blast of power that set the demon screeching.

          Will stepped up beside him. She grabbed his hand and siphoned enough power to charge her own magic before she whirled and attacked the demon from its side.

          “Did anyone bring a weapon?” Rafe called. Will shot him a glare in response. Of course they hadn’t.

          From the side opposite Will came a large dagger, spinning directly into the side of the demon’s neck. It yowled another screech and turned to face what it had decided was a worse opponent.

          Now that it faced away from her, Will was able to get a good look. It had a neck just long enough to whirl around, a head like a dog, with fangs far larger than a saber tooth tigers’, four legs ending in massive claws, and a rattlesnake’s tail, which was flailing about right at her. She jumped over it as it aimed for her legs.

          Another dagger sailed through the air and landed directly between the demon’s eyes. It slumped to its knees, growling as it faded to dust. Will breathed a sigh of relief. It was dead.

          She looked up over where the demon had been at their savior. And stopped.

          “What kind of demon was that?” Rafe asked, rejoining Max and Will by stepping between them. “I didn’t recognize it.”

          “Neither did I.” This concerned Max. Demonology had been part of his specialty, first for general knowledge, then for healing demon-inflicted wounds. A demon with a rattle-snake’s tail probably had venom, especially with the fangs. He racked his brain for anything, even a rare kind of demon, and came up empty. Maybe they’d gone extinct in the last century.

          They turned to Will waiting for her answer, but her eyes were locked on the Shadowhunter walking down the alley towards them. His hair was blacker than the runes that peeked out from under his collar. He wore a coat, which covered most of them. He was well-muscled, despite his young age, another marker of a Shadowhunter, if runes hadn’t been enough. As he approached them, Rafe got a good look at his deep, dark gold eyes, as he scanned each of them in turn, reacting first to Max’s blue skin and horns, then Rafe’s runes, then Will’s. He hesitated on Will, looking her over again.

          Will wondered if he’d noticed her magic, if he searched her for a warlock mark while she searched him for familiarity.

          “You’re Shadowhunters.” It wasn’t a question. “And a warlock.” Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She was a Shadowhunter. And a warlock.

          “Obviously,” Max replied, slipping into his imitation of Magnus’s uninterested drawl.

          At the same time Rafe said, “Thank you for helping us. We’re stranded here without weapons.” The Shadowhunter shifted at the boys’ American accents.

          “Why didn’t you come to the Institute?” he asked as if he already knew the answer. Glancing at Max again. “We would have offered sanctuary to _all_ of you.”

          Rafe gave Will a concerned look as realization began to trickle in his mind. She hadn’t stopped staring at him.

          “We had our reasons,” Max drawled again.

          “What kind of reasons?” He turned his unrelenting gold eyes to Will, catching on her face. “Do I know you?”

          Will shook her head, keeping her breathing calm. “We’ve never met, but I feel like I know you very well, James Herondale.”

          “How do you know my name?” He unconsciously entered a defensive stance. Will raised her hands to show she wouldn’t attack.

          “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

          “Try me,” James taunted.

          “We’re from the future. We were sent here by accident, and now we’re stuck with no way to get home. We didn’t go the Institute,” she broke her sentence, but picked it back up fast enough that James probably hadn’t noticed. “Because we thought we could reduce the potential disturbance created by us being in the wrong time.”

          Rafe was impressed by her beautiful bullshit. James seemed to buy it.

          “You’re from the future? That’s how you know my name.”

          “I also know the name of your future wife, your son, and how you die.” She shot him a wolfish grin. “But I can’t tell you because it would upset the timeline.”

          James didn’t back down. “Well it’s too late now. You’re coming back to the Institute.” It wasn’t a request.

 

          Despite knowing the Institute’s location, they let James lead them. He asked them no more questions, and they asked none of their own. They’d abandoned their stolen goods. The tent was no longer in returnable condition.

          Will watched him while they walked. She examined his similarity to the pictures her mother had shown her, both of him and of his father, one of the men her mother—their mother had loved with all her heart. She’d thought his eyes would have been light gold, nearly pale yellow, like Jace Herondale’s, but James’ were dark gold, the color of the metal itself, and they seemed to glitter in the light of the moon. She saw their mother in his face. He had the same cheekbones, she’d realized, as she stared at him over the demon dust. She wondered which of her parents her cheekbones had come from. She’d never noticed.

          She’d been laced back into her corset before they left. It squeezed her ribs. She’d thought 1903 had been during the era of looser corsets, but maybe not. Rafe was the only one who sensed her discomfort. He laced his hand through hers.

          The gate to the Institute loomed up before them, with its ominous lettering stark against the softness of the winter night. WE ARE DUST AND SHADOWS. _Yes_ , Will thought, _they all now were_.

          They passed through the gate and approached the door to the church. Will released her fiancè’s hand. James opened it without a thought, and held it for them to enter before him. They did.

          He had no idea of the significance of Will entering the London Institute, of Will entering it when her mother lived there. That this time, this place, was etched in Will’s very DNA, a home that was not _her_ home, that she would never know as home.

          “James!” Tessa Herondale’s voice called.

          “Relax Mam!” He shouted back. “I am in one piece!”

          Tessa appeared down one of the staircases, holding a witchlight. Her eyes widened as she took in Will, Max, and Rafe. “You brought guests?”

          “My guests need a place to stay. They claim to be from the future.”

          “We are,” Rafe smiled, sheepishly, knowing how ridiculous the story sounded.

          “A story, I’m sure, we would all love to hear,” a clear male voice said. Their eyes all fell on him at once, enabling his dramatic entrance.

          In front of them stood William Herondale. Will Herondale, who would be dead a century that summer, if they had stayed in 2037.

          Will Carstairs had been born late. Her mother had wondered if it was an effect of not having children for a century and a half, but Caterina Loss had shot her down. After, Caterina had told her an old tale about late births being a sign that the baby was waiting for something. For Will, it was, well, Will. Her father did not think it was a coincidence she had been born on the anniversary of his death.

          Will Herondale’s hair was the same color as his son’s. Will Carstairs looked into his eyes. Yes, they were the color of the sky just before the night, or the ocean, or the ring of blue that surrounded the full moon, and every other comparison her parents had given her.

          This was Will Herondale, the man both her parents had loved wholeheartedly. He was living, breathing, and in front of her.

          “We were searching,” Rafe had taken the lead again in talking, “For a powerful supernatural object. In our search, we passed through some sort of Time Portal. It dropped us here. We came from 2037.”

          “2037?!” exclaimed a female voice from behind Will Herondale. The speaker was a girl who looked like Tessa, though Will’s blue eyes gleamed back at them. Lucie Herondale. “134 years in the future! What is it like?”

          Will Carstairs could not help the wide-toothed smile that broke out on her face. Stories from her mother filled her brain. Any anxiety she’d had about coming to the Institute vanished as Lucie’s expression filled her gaze. “Different,” she replied, “Than this, but not quite as different as one might think.” In a babble, she began to describe some of the more obvious changes between the two eras.

          While everyone else sat silent, thinking over Will’s words, Lucie clapped her hands together with glee. “This will be just wonderful for my novel!” She seemed to have a second thought. “Maybe not my novel, but for a short story. I shall write it. A time travel story like H. G. Wells.” She turned to Will, “Have you read Wells?”

          “I have,” she replied to her half-sister.

          “Splendid. If you hadn’t, I would have had to drag you to the library myself.” Lucie was as impetuous as their mother had described, and Will adored her already. Lucie was still talking, though she’d changed the subject. “Your accent? You’re from Devon?”

          “I am.”

          “Is there an Institute near there then? I don’t believe there is one now. Obviously, there’s the one in Cornwall, but—”

          “Lucie, darling, please stop pestering them,” Tessa interrupted. Lucie quieted. “I don’t believe we learned your names?”

          “Rafael Lightwood.” His name rang through the entry room. “My father is descended from your sister,” he explained, answering the unasked question. “Though, he is not my biological father,” he added hastily.

          Max gave a dramatic bow to cover Rafe’s blabbing. “Maximillion Magnificico, I hail from New York. I do not believe I am related to any of you, though Rafe here is my dear brother.” Rafe shot him a look of annoyance. “By adoption.”

          “Rosemary Gray—mark,” Will lied. Rosemary Gray was the alias she usually used when she needed one. It had slipped out automatically. She didn’t think Luke Garroway would object to her borrowing his former surname. “Thank you for giving us a place to stay.”

          Tessa softened. “We offer sanctuary to anyone who needs it, Shadowhunter or Downworlder,” she nodded to Max, who grinned back at her.

 

          They were all given rooms in the same hallway, doors next to each other. “We have plenty,” Tessa had said. It had taken everything Will had not to throw her arms around her mother, to take comfort in a familiar face.

          She locked herself in her room when she reached it, not bothering to say “good night” to Max or Rafe. They waited in the hallway after she left, probably considering whether or not they should make sure she was okay. Will listened to their whispered conversation through the door as they discussed the plan for tomorrow.

          The result: they didn’t have one.

          Rafe had wished his brother “good night” and went to his own room, mulling over whether he should try to comfort Will, or give her the time she needed. And Max’s last words to him, when he stopped him just before leaving for the next door over:

          “Rafe?” Max asked.

          “Hmm?” He studied the look on Max’s face, amusement breaking through the worry and the fear.

          “Do you really call her Daddy?” he asked as though the question had been burning his mind.

          “What are you talking about?”

          “Uh, nothing. Forget it.”

          The conversation was forgotten by the time he lay down and let sleep claim him.

***

          Will Carstairs awoke on soft sheets. Someone was knocking on the door, but Will rolled over and tried to block it out.

          “Miss Graymark, I’m coming in.” That woke Will up. _Graymark?_

          Then she remembered.

          A young woman entered the room. She had brown hair tied in a knot on top of her head, and wore a maid’s outfit. In her arms, she held a piece of blue fabric. “Bridget’s almost done making breakfast, miss. I’m here to ask if you want help changing.”

          Will sat up in bed. “Yes, thank you.” She stopped. “What’s your name?”

          “Abigail.”

          “Thank you Abigail. I would love your help. Were you told where—when we came from?”

          Abigail helped Will into a simple, but elegant blue dress. “Yes, miss. Mrs. Herondale told me everything.” she began tying the corset, significantly faster than Rafe or Max had the night before.

          Will racked her brain for what she remembered about Abigail, the London Institute’s temporary maid. Very little, she realized. The woman had been hired by the Clave for the job, then quit a few months later and disappeared. These must have been the few months.

          “All done there, miss. Do you need help finding the dining room for breakfast?”

          “No thank you, Abigail. I can manage myself.”

          She walked down the halls to the dining room. She found Max and Rafe already sitting at the table, as were Will and Tessa. She sat down beside Rafe. “Good morning.”

          Tessa looked her up and down. “Oh good, the dress fits, I thought you were about my size.”

          Will refrained from telling her why they were the same size. “Yes, thank you.”

          “Bridget should be done with the food in a few minutes. And the kids will eventually join us.”

          As if summoned, Lucie waltzed in and kissed her parents on the cheek. “Bore da.” She moved with the grace of a Shadowhunter or a ballet dancer as she moved around the table to sit beside Will Carstairs. Her prattling washed over the room in excited sounds.

          “Lucie, darling, please,” Tessa interrupted as Bridget brought out the first dish. “Our guests want to eat.”

          Lucie quieted. Her father shot her a wink. Her half-sister whispered, “Next time she says that, tell her ‘yes’ and that you want to eat too.” Lucie’s grin was wider than the Thames.

          “So, what exactly were you searching for?”

          “William!”

          Max answered anyway. “Are you familiar with Àchristos?”

          “The writer?” This was James, entering the dining room. “He had some weird ideas about magic and philosophy. He sounded mad to me.”

          “He was,” Rafe agreed.

          “Àchristos was more than just a writer. He was one of the most skilled magicians in history. He might have even equalled Amalia Everette in skill, though he lived millennia before she was born.

          “In the early 4th Century B.C., he forged a staff with the help of a powerful warlock that was supposed to let him channel warlock magic. After it was completed, he disappeared. He only resurfaced once, when he razed an entire village. The staff was found 500 years later, when Orvian the Wise used it to summon the demon Kronos. Kronos killed him, took the staff, and it hasn’t been seen since.”

          “You were looking for the staff when you found the Time Portal?” Lucie asked.

          “Yes.”

          Will Carstairs frowned. “You don’t seem that surprised we’re from the future.”

          Tessa sighed. She exchanged a glance with her husband. “Because we’re not. You’re not the first time travellers to arrive here.”


	3. Liars and the Great Time Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucie feels under-appreciated. Max and Rafe interview the other time travelers in 1903. Will stays at the Institute to do research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "People who think about time travel stories sometimes think that going back in time would be fun because you would have all the information you needed to be much more astute than the people there, when the truth is of course you wouldn't." -Octavia Butler

**_Devon, June 2013_ **

          Tessa let out a full laugh as Magnus whirled his way into her hospital room, waved his hands, and transformed the room into celebration chaos. Balloons appeared in the corners, gift bags popped up on the tables, and confetti fell to the floor. Alec walked in after his husband. “Congratulations!”

          Kit brushed confetti out of his hair and made sure none had interfered with the sleeping baby. She slept oblivious to the noise in the room around her. Kit hadn’t realized he wanted a sister before last fall, but now that she was here, he hadn’t been this happy maybe ever.

          Magnus was spouting to Tessa about the presents he brought. Alec gravitated to Jem in and leaned over the hospital crib to look at the baby. “Are you excited?” Alec asked Kit.

          Kit shrugged. 

          Jem laughed. “He’s a teenage boy. He’s not in touch with his emotions.”

          Kit let his mouth fall open, mimicking offense. “Oh I am very emotional.”

          “Oh shush you three. Tessa should open the presents.” Magnus gestured to the pile of gift bags on the side table. 

          Tessa shook her head. “We should wait until—” Catarina and Ragnor pushed the room door open. “Until these two get here. You’re late!”

          Caterina placed a green bottle down on the table next to the presents. “Don’t even think about it, Tess, not for more than a month. Then you can start pump-n-dumping.”

          “I would never,” Tessa threw her hands up in mock offense. 

          “Presents,” Magnus brought them all back to the subject at hand. “I brought a table full of them.” Tessa snorted and reached for one of the gifts. 

          “Not yet,” Jem interrupted. “As her father, I get to give her her first present.” Kit reached under the table and pulled out a gift bag he and Jem had hidden. He handed it to Jem. “And I get to tell her a story.” He picked up the sleeping baby and handed her to her mother. The baby blinked her eyes open and let out a small cry. Jem shrugged, “I wanted her awake for this.”

          “Well now she’s going to cry,” Tessa teased. She rocked her daughter carefully.

          Jem kneeled down beside the bed, and ran his finger over the baby’s head. He began his story. “You, my daughter, are named after many people we care about. Your first name, Will, we’ll get to Will,” he stopped, and took a breath. “Your first middle name, Elizabeth, was your grandmother. Her real name was Adele, but she was known by all as Elizabeth Gray. Your second middle name, Charlotte, was a woman very special to me and your mother; Charlotte Fairchild basically raised me after my own parents died. She was like the older sister I never had. 

          “Mí Dié Xiāng, your other name, means Rosemary. Rosemary Herondale was Kit’s mother. I only met her once and did not know her for very long, but she changed all our lives.” He smiled back at Kit, then locked eyes with Tessa.

          “Will Herondale was the bravest man I ever knew. The best man I ever knew. He was someone your mother and I loved very much, loved with our whole hearts. He had flaws, maybe one or two.”

          Tessa laughed and nodded.

          “For example,” Jem continued. “He was terrified of ducks. Ducks are these birds that like to swim around in water, and when we were kids, Will and I decided we were going to feed the ducks in Hyde Park. They got a little too friendly with Will, and he was terrified of them ever since. 

          “Your brother James, he decided, even as a baby, that he was going to love them out of spite. And even though Will is no longer with us, I, and your mother too, I’m sure, we still find ourselves doing something because we know Will would love it, or because it would annoy him terribly.

          “Anyway, two weeks ago, I went to London to go shopping. I was going to buy you a teddy bear. A toy for you to love and hug in your sleep. There’s a toy store downtown, so I went inside and found this giant wall of plush toys, but before I found the bears, well…” He pulled the tissue paper out of the bag and let it join the confetti on the floor. He pulled out a soft, plush duck. “I saw this, and I couldn’t resist.”

          He looked up and met his wife’s eyes. She had covered her mouth with her hand, and tears stung in her eyes, while laughter still danced across her face.

          “So remember, Will Carstairs, whenever you hug this duck, that you were named after a brilliant man, who would be honored to know you share his name.” 

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          “Other time travelers? Who? From when?” Rafe asked. 

          “That’s what I’d like to know,” Lucie added. “You didn’t tell me about this!”

          “The reports began about three weeks ago: people who claimed to be from the future with strange technology, people who knew things that hadn’t happened yet. It was brought to our attention, but we dismissed it as mundane gossip,” Will Herondale explained.

          “It was all ridiculous,” James added.

          “He knew?!” Lucie interjected.

          Will continued, “Last week, a witch claiming to be from 1989 accurately predicted the time and location of a man’s death by a demon. We didn’t believe her, and we weren’t able to prevent the death.”

          “That alone didn’t mean she was telling the truth, but we had another claim from a half-faery, and then you three arrived,” Tessa finished. 

          “Three’s a pattern,” Will Carstairs realized. She ignored the untrusting look on James’s face.

          “Yes, but if you don’t know how you came here, we don’t know how to return you.”

          “Is there a way for us to speak to the other time travelers? To see if we can compare our experiences or to find common ground?” Rafe asked. 

          Tessa and Will exchanged a glance. “We could split you up.” Will suggested. “But the witch won’t speak to a Shadowhunter.” He turned to Max. “I would send you with Tessa, but she knows her face, knows she’s associated with Shadowhunters.”

          “Is Magnus still in the city?” James asked. “We could ask him.”

          “Yes, let’s!” Lucie exclaimed. “He was here the other night and no one woke me to see him.”

          Will shrugged. “I’ll send a note to Ragnor Fell.”

***

          Something always drew him back to London. Maybe it was the way the snow glistened in the sunlight adding pure white to the city’s dank color palette. Maybe it was the pompous contrast between the royalty and aristocracy and the free spirits who roamed the bars and streets. Maybe it was the damn Shadowhunters.

          Magnus wasn’t sure how he had developed a soft spot for the Herondales. There was Tessa, eternally young, like himself, and Will, even more handsome in his middle age than he had been at seventeen. What had started with one of the oddest days of his long life, a day spent with Edmund Herondale, had turned into generations of friendship. 

          He had met James, Will and Tessa’s son, earlier. The boy had fired a gun at a chandelier on a drunken dare and Magnus had been forced to drag him back to the Institute. A spur of compassion for his old friends or something. Responsibility didn’t suit him well.

          Magnus Bane had  _ not _ boarded his ship back to New York from two nights before. He hadn’t boarded his back-up plan last night either. He blamed Ragnor Fell and he blamed a dryad named Niv Springwood for smiling at him, robbing him blind, and then abandoning him behind the club with his pants down. He’d had worse nights. Maybe.

          The club was one he’d never spent much time in when he lived in London due to misguided loyalty to Camille Belcourt, his lover at the time. He knew it was a place where all sorts of men, women, and everything in between went to meet other men, women, and everything in between. Magnus was a fan of all, and tended to have good luck sexually.

          What he’d found at the club was not what he expected. Holding court from a booth in the back was a young woman in a well-tailored suit with hair like nighttime and a cigarette dangling from her fingers. It didn’t take him very long to figure out she was a Shadowhunter and that all of her courtiers were women. 

          And that all the women were her courtiers.

          Then Niv had smiled at him and left the crowd of lovesick girls to meet him by the bar. He’d had enough at that point not to care that a dryad was in the middle of a city and not think too hard about her intentions as she led him out the back door. 

          The rest was, well, the rest. 

          He had wandered until he found his way to Ragnor Fell’s and banged on the door until his friend let him inside. He had woken up on Ragnor’s couch the next morning with a splintering headache. Even warlock magic had never found a true cure for a hangover. 

          Ragnor laughed about the entire thing, but didn’t let Magnus forget it the rest of the day. As payment for letting him “infringe on my personal space” and “suck all my money”, Ragnor dragged him to the Devil Tavern for a drink. Or 6. 

          He had again woken up on Ragnor’s couch with little memory of the previous night and an awful headache, but this time he was wearing someone else’s shirt and a petticoat over his trousers. 

          It had probably been more than 6.

          Now, with his head still aching, he made his way up the steps of the London Institute. It looked different in daylight, but the same as it looked in 1878. He rang the doorbell. Bridget answered after less than a minute. She ushered him to a sitting room.

          “When you said ‘time travelers, I didn’t think you were serious,” Magnus said as he took in the room’s occupants. Tessa and Will sat in chairs, James and someone who could only be his sister stood nearby. Another three chairs were occupied by a man with blue skin and small horns, a male Shadowhunter, and a female Shadowhunter who struck Magnus as somehow familiar. The time travelers staying at the Institute, he guessed. 

          “Magnus, thank you so much,” Tessa greeted. 

          “Anything for you two,” Magnus brushed off. “Now what exactly am I doing here?”

          “We need your help,” Will began.

          “You mentioned that.”

          “Maximillion Magnificico,” Max introduced, accompanied by a flourishing bow. Magnus studied the blue warlock. He looked to be in his early twenties. He held himself with practiced confidence that spoke of youth and inexperience. He might even be as old as he looked, Magnus realized, or recently reached maturity. Max gestured to his companions,  “Rafael Lightwood, and his fiancee, Rosemary Graymark.” The woman gave a small twitch when her name was mentioned. Magnus noted it for later.

          “There’s a witch who claims to be from the future. The Witch of Catarlain. Our time travelers,” Will explained, “suggested that if we could speak with the others who are out of their own times, then they may be able to find a way home. The Witch will not speak to Shadowhunters, so we thought of you.”

          “You want me to talk to a witch about being from the future?” he asked.

          “I’ll go with you,” Max added. 

          No, it wasn’t confidence, Magnus corrected himself. It was brashness more in line with a Shadowhunter’s superior arrogance than a warlock’s anger drawn from persecution. He wondered where it had come from.

 

          They talked schematics for the rest of the time, and how they would split up the rest of the group. Magnus and Max would go alone. Rafe would join Will and Tessa to interview Mr. David Jefferson, the half-faery. “Rosemary” would stay at the Institute with James, Lucie, and anyone else they brought in to research time travel and the Staff.

          When the discussions were over, Magnus pulled Will aside. “Be careful with Miss Graymark. The name she gave you is fake.”

          “Fake?” Will’s expression turned to one of alarm. Tessa noticed it from the other side of the room.

          “She winces every time someone says it.”

          “Why would she lie about her name?” Will glanced in her direction. Tessa shot him a questioning look over the fake-Rosemary’s shoulder, then quickly recovered to respond to whatever had been said.

          “I wouldn’t read malice into it. There are a lot of reasons why someone would hide their identity. Just keep it in mind.” Magnus gripped his shoulder.  Will nodded in agreement.

***

 

**_London Streets, 1903_ **

          London was prettier during the day, Max thought. He’d been there before, of course, but the city had changed quite a bit between the 20th and 21st Centuries.

          Tourism was something that had always intrigued him, especially since it had been forbidden until he mastered casting a glamour. Blue children turned heads, even in New York. Children on tv explored city streets and animated jungles while Max explored his Papa’s closet and empty rooms at the New York Institute. The former was filled with too many curiosities and the latter not enough.

          London had been the third place he’d gone after finally mastering the glamour. The first had been his home of New York, then Buenos Aires, then London. He’d walked down these same streets with his parents, brother, and the Herondale-Carstairs-Gray family. Will had run circles around them until Kit made up a game to get her to walk in one spot.

          The streets were quieter in 1903 without the car overpopulation, and Max felt lost walking next to his Papa without being able to make conversation. To his relief it was Magnus who started talking first. 

          “So, Maximillion, why don’t you tell me the real story of what’s going on here?” 

          “Max is fine,” he replied, dodging the question. 

          “I agree, Maximillion Magnificico is a garish name. Try a one syllable last name. Pick a dark noun or negative-sounding verb, or an adjective. Maximillion Night.”

          “I don’t need a new name.”

          “No,” Magnus nodded, “because it’s an alias, like your friend ‘Rosemary.’”

          Max stopped in his tracks and let out a stream of babbling denial. “That’s—no—I—ridiculous—both of our real names are our real names.”

          “Yes but Maximillion Magnificico is not it.”

          Max sighed. Less than half an hour with his Papa and he’d already blown their cover. Rafe was going to kill him. 

          “You’re a lot smarter than I’ve ever given you credit for. If you remember this in the future, know that.” Max felt the need to preface. “The story we told you and the Herondales is real. There’s just a little more to it than that. It’s not my place to tell you why Rosemary chose to use an alias. If you want answers, you’ll have to ask her.”

          “And how do we know each other?” Magnus asked.

          Regardless of the fact that anyone could see them, Max lit a small blue light in the center of his palm. “You taught me everything I know.”

 

          The Witch of Catarlain rented a flat in downtown London. It had been easy for her to get the money. Just a few trades at the Shadow Market and she was rich enough to live. The flat was small, but she was only there until she found a way to another time or place. 

          She was from 1989. The Shadow World was going to hell, and frankly she was happy to get away from the Shadowhunter brat and his cult of merry murderers. 1903 wouldn’t have been her first choice, but maybe she’d get to continue her search for the Staff with all the knowledge she had now and get to beat the rush.

          The small clock on the mantle was chiming when Max and Magnus knocked on the door. She welcomed them inside and let them sit at her kitchen table, one of the only pieces of furniture in the flat. 

          “Thank you so much, Miss Covault. I am Magnus Bane and this is my associate Maximillion Night.”

          “And you’re here to talk about time travel,” she interrupted.

          “Yes.” Max decided now was the time to talk before Magnus or the witch filled up the conversation. “I am also from the future, you see. 2037, so even further in the future than you. I was hoping we could compare notes about our,” he gave her a flirtatious smile “Shared experience.”

          The witch ignored Max’s actions but answered his question. “I don’t know how I got here, but I know why. I was looking for something, and someone wanted to get me out of the way.”

          “Looking for what?” Magnus asked.

          At the same time, Max guessed, “The Staff of Àchristos.”

          Now she noticed him. “You were after it too?”

          “I’m here for your testimony. I’ll give mine after.”

          She studied his face for a few seconds. “I’ll make tea.” 

          After she poured each of them a cup, she began. “Are you familiar with Amalia Everette?” 

          Magnus dropped his tea cup. 

          “She was a powerful witch in the 18th Century. She started as a fortune teller, a con artist probably, but quickly started practicing magic. She wasn’t in a cult like the Dawes Crusade or the Pandemonium Club, but she moved on from drawing circles and burning incense to actual magic, warlock magic.”

          “Humans can’t perform warlock magic,” Max protested.

          “Not without some kind of aid,” she agreed. “I started following her teachings in college. I attended meetings. I read all her journals, visited the places she visited. I was in Greece when I started hearing rumors about the Staff. A talisman that could give anyone that kind of power, I wanted it.”

          Max frowned. “Why are you telling us all this?” 

          “I have no reason not to,” the witch explained. “Why would I hide my motives? There are a thousand ways to learn about the Staff. And I know that I will be the one to find it.”

          “Why do you say that?”

          “I studied Amalia. I went to meetings with other Followers. I surpassed them all. With the Staff, I would be Amalia’s true heir, the successor to her power.”

          “You would not,” Magnus said sharply, draining the room of amenity. “Amalia has no heir.”

          “Not yet, but once I get the Staff—”

          “Amalia Everette didn’t have the Staff. She was a powerful witch,  _ that’s all _ .” His voice broke on the last two words. 

          It occurred to Max he might not know his Papa as well as he thought he did. 

          “Amalia was gifted. She was able to figure out work-arounds, substitutions, other power sources. Yes, she had students, but not the Followers. Your cult would have horrified her.” Under the table, Magnus’s hands were lit with balls of blue fire, like he had lost control of his own magic in rage or desperation. 

          The witch leaned back in her chair like the two warlocks across from her weren’t any kind of threat. “Do you know why they call me the Witch of Catarlain?” She didn’t wait for a response. “It’s because I’ve run the Shadow Market in Catarlain since I was 21. I’ve defended that against vampires, werewolves, and  _ warlocks _ . I don’t care what you say, or if you try and stop me. I’ve won before and I’ll win again.”

          The fire in Magnus’s palms grew brighter. “I don’t care if you go after the Staff, but don’t bring Amalia into this.” His voice was surprisingly steady. He moved his hands up and the table between them started to blacken.

          The witch reached to her neck and pulled out an amulet hanging on a chain. “If you try to attack me, Magnus Bane, it will backfire.”

_           Shit _ , Max realized. There was a protection spell on her necklace. Magnus was out of control and anything he did would affect them instead. He placed his hand on Magnus’s arm to calm him. If only he had Will’s siphon powers. She could have depleted enough of his magic to negate the threat, but not Max. He had to get them out of there.

          The witch stalked around the kitchen. Max and Magnus followed her every move with their eyes. She pulled a small vial off of one of the shelves. It contained a bright green liquid and shone with golden flecks where the light hit it. “Do you know what kind of charm this is?” she asked. “And what will happen if any of it touches your skin?”

          Max was putting forth considerable effort not to panic. Magnus was still too far gone to have an escape plan. He raised his hands above his head. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll leave now, and we won’t bother you again. Neither will any of the Shadowhunters. We’ll forget this conversation ever happened.” 

          “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

          “I hoped you would.” 

          The witch flicked the stopper off the vial. Max created a hard shield of energy around them and squeezed Magnus’s arm. The flame in Mangus’s hands winked out. Max pulled him to his feet and then to the door. He blew the door off its hinges, and they ran out into the street. They didn’t stop until they were far away from the flat.

          “That,” Magnus sighed after catching his breath. “Did not go quite how I intended it to.”

          Max let out a lackluster laugh. “Let’s hope Rafe actually got something useful.”

***

          She had blue eyes; Magnus remembered that. Sometimes, once a year, on the anniversary of her death, he could remember her smile. She had been his lover, but she hadn’t loved him the way he’d loved her.

***

 

**_Lambeth, London, 1903_ **

          On the other side of the city, Rafael Lightwood-Bane sat in a carriage opposite the past version of his future mother-in-law and her current husband, his fiancee’s namesake. 

          Tessa was explaining the details about who they were going to meet. “David Jefferson is a half-faery man who claims to be from the year 2018. Do you remember 2018?” This was to Rafe.

          He nodded. “I was eleven.” 

          “Were there any important events that year?”

          Rafe hesitated. “In the Shadow World, the last big crisis was 2015. The rest of the world—let’s leave it at ‘it happened.’”

          Will and Tessa shrugged it off. 

          They arrived at the faery house the man was staying at. It was a small boarding house for faeries staying in London. They preferred it because of the absence of anything iron on the premises. The half-faery man had checked into the boarding house after his arrival, deciding he’d rather stay with other faeries than anywhere else.

          As the heads of the London Institute, the Herondales could access the foyer, and, therefore, meet with Mr. Jefferson, which they did.

          “Mr. Jefferson,” Will greeted. “William Herondale, we met briefly when you first arrived. This is my wife Tessa, and this is Rafael Lightwood, another time traveler.”

          David Jefferson looked at Rafe. “I know who you are.” 

_           Oh Raziel _ , Rafe realized.  _ He did _ . 

          David Jefferson had been a semi-active consultant for the Shadowhunter-Downworlder alliance, active only in the few years after the dissolution of the Cold Peace, before he’d slipped off back into petty crime. Rafe had been too young at the time to understand, but he’d overheard his parents complaining about a group of faeries who had started lacing marijuana with faery drugs to give mundanes.

          “Your dad’s entire life is like a big fuck you to all the old Clave traditions. Both your dads.”

          “Yeah,” Rafe agreed, with the sudden knowledge that all of their attempts to remain anonymous had just been blown wide open. 

          “Yeah I remember your dads. There was the Shadowhunter Consul who was kinda cool, a little uptight, but cool. Then your other one, the warlock. He wears makeup, likes glitter.”

          Rafe had to bite back a snap. Magnus Lightwood-Bane is one of, if not,  _ the _ most powerful warlock alive. He had helped draft the Accords, had a seat on the Council, and helped to rebuild the Clave after they were exiled from Idris. Yet all the half-faery could remember is that he wears makeup. 

          “We can discuss all the great things my parents did at another time. Speaking of another time, we should discuss the circumstances by which you, and I, got here.”

          David ran a hand through his hair, revealing his pointed ears. “I’m not gonna lie to you, kid, I wasn’t really in my  _ right mind _ when I got here.”

          Rafe put his head in his hands. 

          “It was a weird night. I was still coming off my high from this party at my buddy’s. I walked out my front door and I saw some lights down the streets. They were green and purple, and I walked into them, and then I was here.”

          Rafe perked up and the sound of green and purple lights. Green and purple were the colors of the Portal they’d been pulled through. There was some common ground. What it meant, Rafe had no idea.  “In this case, Mr. Jefferson, you actually did see what you thought you did.” 

          “Can you think of anything else?” Tessa asked 

          “Yes, particularly about how the lights appeared. Did you see any strange people? Anything like that?” Rafe had recovered from his moment of disappointment to hope he actually might be helpful.

          “Nah man, that’s all I saw.” The disappointment was back. “I wish I could help more, but I wasn’t really all-there, you know.”

          “I do,” he replied with a forced-polite smile. He continued to ask if David knew anything else, and about his experience before, during, and after passing through the Time Portal, but the results were equally unsatisfactory.

          To the side, Will and Tessa were having a silent conversation. It went something like this:

          Will: This man is an idiot.

          Tessa: William!

          Will: He doesn’t know anything the future-Lightwood doesn’t.

          Tessa: We don’t know that yet.

          Will: Yet…

          Tessa:

 

          “If you can’t think of anything else, I have no more questions,” Rafe said. He turned to Will and Tessa. “Do you have any others?”

          “No, I believe that will be all. Thank you for your help Mr. Jefferson,” Tessa answered. “We will update you on our progress to return you home.”

          After farewells and thank yous, they turned to leave, but before they were out the door, David Jefferson interrupted. “Do you think it has anything to do with my father’s vault?”

          They turned back. “What vault?”

          “My father, the faery, helps guard a vault filled with supernatural weapons.”

          “He didn’t lead with that?” Will whispered into Tessa’s ear. She swatted his arm in response.

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          Will Carstairs was wedged between a pile of books and a pile of young Shadowhunters reading said books when hell swooped down and skimmed over their heads. “What the hell was that?” she shouted.

          “Demon!” The young Shadowhunter identified as Thomas Lightwood was already standing. 

          The demon attacking them was large and winged. Its head was twisted on its neck, giving the appearance that the neck was broken. Its feet ended in razor sharp talons. Its wingspan stretched twice as large as its body.

          “We do not judge here,” Matthew Fairchild began.

          “This is not the time,” James chastised. 

          “We do not judge here,” Matthew repeated, “but who summoned a winged demon inside the Institute?”

          “Why do you assume it was one of us?” Lucie threw a dagger she must have had hidden on her person. It missed the demon’s wing by less than an inch.

          “Well, I certainly am not guilty, and it is inside the Institute.” Matthew threw a book and hit the demon directly in the face. It fell to the floor. Matthew grinned his victory at a dismayed James, Lucie, Christopher Lightwood, and Will.

          “These books are rare!” Lucie yelled.

          “But it worked.”

          It was a temporary victory. The demon flew from the far side of a bookshelf at them.

          “I vote we run!” Will ran for the door. She didn’t look back, but the rest of them followed her. The demon hit the door just as they slammed it behind them. Thomas grabbed a candlestick and used it to jam the door. 

          “What should we do now?” Christopher asked.

          “We arm ourselves with real weapons, and then we kill it,” Lucie suggested as though it was the only option.

          James was frowning at Will. “Do you know anything about this?”

          “Right. I’m the stranger, and therefore automatically the one responsible.”

          “Yes.”

          “I didn’t do this.”

          “Let us kill the demon first,” Thomas interrupted. “We can argue later.”

          “It’s a good thing we’re all Shadowhunters,” Will agreed. “It’s almost like we kill demons for a living.”

          They left the demon barred in the library. They could hear it banging into the door, trying to free the jam. Will guessed it wouldn’t be long before the demon escaped. They hurried to arm themselves. Everyone grabbed a seraph blade. Some grabbed other weapons if they preferred. 

          They returned to the library to find Thomas’s jam hadn’t held. The only sign of the demon was the wreckage of the door, which was dented, misshapen, and partially off its hinges. 

          “It went that way.” Christopher pointed down the hall where there were signs of destruction marking a trail through the Institute.

          “One of us should go find Bridget, Abigail, and Cyril,” Lucie suggested.

          “We’ll find them after. If the demon attacked them, they will be on our way. If not, they are safe, and we might be bringing danger to them,” Matthew disagreed.

          “Assuming there’s only one demon,” Will added.

          “Is there?” James asked. He was still frowning at her like he’d picked up on her lies on some intrinsic level. 

          “Why don’t you trust me?”

          “Fight later.” Thomas took command of the group. “Matthew’s right. We should follow this trail and see where we get.” The rest agreed. They followed him down the hall to find the demon.

          “I believe you,” Lucie whispered as she fell into step beside Will. Despite the danger, she still wore her wide smile. It was the kind of smile that would stop a rainstorm in favor of sunshine. 

          “Thank you.”

          It didn’t take long before they caught up to the demon. Lucie didn’t wait. She charged, seraph blade in hand. “ _ Barachiel _ !” she cried. The demon turned to her. She raised her sword to strike, but exposed her chest. The demon tucked its wings, rocketing directly at her. She screamed as its claws raked across her body, opening vast lesions in her chest. Blood poured out of her wounds, staining her front in less than a second. She fell to the ground.

          As Lucie hit the floor, the demon disintegrated, though she hadn’t hit it with her blade. James let out a shriek, then doubled over, like he’d been shot. Will felt a blast of energy shoot through her. It ricocheted around her body and resonated with her demonic power. She could siphon it if she tried.

          By the time she recovered, James was on his feet again, running toward Lucie. He kneeled beside her. He checked that she was breathing. Will could tell she was by his reaction. He took out his stele and carved an iratze onto her skin. The wounds began to heal, but she was still unconscious. 

          “What was that?” Will asked James. “That blast?”

          “What happened to you two?” Thomas asked, looking from James to Will. 

          “You didn’t feel it?” She was surprised. “A blast of energy shot right through us. I think that’s what killed the demon.”

          “It came from Lucie.” James was frowning at Will. “It felt like demonic power, the same way it feels when I use mine. The question is why  _ you _ felt it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finals this week, so Chapter 4 might be late. I will try my hardest to finish it in time, but it might not happen.


	4. The Things We Do for our Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in 2037, Magnus and Tessa go to extreme lengths to find out what happened Will, Max, and Rafe. They recruit some others for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” – Henry Van Dyke.

**_Nyx Nightclub, New York City, 2035_ **

          The club raged with dancers: half-dressed people who swarmed together in time with the thumping bass and synthesized melody to make a horde of music-high worshippers to the god of party. Dionysus himself would have laughed and marveled at the sight of the dancefloor. It had been some time, and Magnus Bane relished it.

          But not tonight. Instead, he stood off to the side, drinking something that hadn’t contained alcohol before it came in contact with his hand. Caterina Loss and Tessa Gray stood beside him.

          Caterina watched Magnus as she sipped a Coke with the same proof as Everclear. Domestic life had tamed him over the decades, but there was still wild in his eyes. He used those eyes to watch the club.

          Tessa was still Tessa. This had never been her scene, and it never would be. Her idea of a night out was a walk through the city or attending the theater, movie or stage. She had come out for them, though, as she always did.

          They had started these nights out as a way for the immortals to release tension every so often. Love was love, but it was always easier to battle the great enemy time when you had a support system.

          Caterina turned her gaze to watch Tessa. Tessa watched crowds the way a crow did, calculating and curious. A group of boys who had clearly only gotten in with fake IDs and the bouncer’s boredom harassed every woman who passed by them. A woman with galaxy colored hair whirled between two partners. On the far side, a young couple sat in a corner booth making out.

          “Is that my daughter?!” Tessa exclaimed, eyes still on the young couple. 

          “Is that my son?!” Magnus echoed, realizing through the haze exactly who was sitting in that booth.

          “Yeah, they’ve been together for like a year,” said a voice from behind them. They found Max leaning against the bar, sipping from a glass. He shrugged. “Old news.”

          Magnus, clearly shaken from seeing both his children in a nightclub, replied “Not to us.”

          “Why didn’t she tell us?” Tessa asked

          Caterina decided it was time to step back from the conversation before it was too late and she got caught up in more drama.

          “Tessa, our children are dating.” To say he had never considered it would be a lie, but he’d thought if Will dated either of the boys, it would be Max. On the other hand, he could understand why Rafe might be the more desirable candidate. Mortality vs immortality had caused its fair share of issues for him and Alec when they’d started out.

          “It’s been a year?” Tessa clarified with Max. She had already raised two children to adulthood, survived their marriages, and had had grandchildren. She could face her daughter dating a family friend. What she couldn’t face were the lies. 

          “Yeah.”

          “And why didn’t they tell us?” Tessa asked again.

          It was Max’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Well, Tessa, in the past you’ve been known to be, uh—You should ask her.”

          Tessa threw him a stare that had cracked boulders. “What were you going to say?”

          "Nosy.”

          “I am not nosy!”

          “You’ve tried to set her up with everyone from me to that Feuerborn boy who did his travel year at the London Institute.”

          “She dated him for two years!” 

          Magnus looked to Caterina for advice, support, or answers, but she shook her head. She’d already decided not to get involved. “So much for being my best friend,” he mouthed.

          “It’s not that big a deal. Just go talk to them.” Max glanced over at Will and Rafe again. “Maybe wait until they’re five feet apart.” 

          Magnus had been given three pieces of advice after they’d adopted Max. 1. Children were life’s greatest adventure. 2. Children would be the greatest joy of his life. 3. Children would be the reason he drank.

          Magnus decided it was time to find a different bar.

***

 

**_New York City, 2037_ **

          Before he became a parent himself, Magnus had a low opinion of helicopter parenting. But then again, he thought, he now justified himself by saying he wasn’t being overbearing, just taking precautions to ensure his children’s safety. It wasn’t like he put cameras in the loft or made them call him every night.

          “You did what?” Tessa asked, as she arrived on the street outside the loft. 

          “I put a spell on the kids’ loft, just a little alarm system in case something went wrong,” Magnus explained. “I didn’t think it would ever go off, but it did an hour ago. Something’s wrong and I need another warlock as back up.”

          “What’s our first step?”

          Magnus threw a small bolt of energy at the building. It bounced off and hit the ground harmlessly. “We have to take down Max’s wards.”

          “You couldn’t do that yourself?” 

          He shook his head. “I tried. He must have reinforced them somehow: spell bags, anchors, I don’t know. He’s a smart kid.”

          “You’re growing soft in your old age.” She waved her hands and muttered something. Despite her attempt, the Wards stayed up. “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe you’re right.”

          It took their combined strength, but the Wards finally fell. The force nearly knocked them over. They burst through the doors and found what was left of their children’s ritual: the pentagram etched on the floor, the candles burnt down, the now defunct bags they used to reinforce the Wards. There were no people. There were no demons.

          It took all of Magnus’s energy to keep cool. He walked around the pentagram like he was looking for clues, but he couldn’t keep a coherent thought in his head.

          “What would set off the alarm?” Tessa asked.

          “Large demonic activity, a powerful haunting, any major dark magic presence,” he listed automatically. It was a welcome distraction from the chaos around and inside him.

          Tessa took out her phone and pressed the screen. “I’m calling Will.” Will’s ringtone came from the kitchen. They found her phone on the kitchen table, along with chalk and other spell supplies. “She was not here. Tell me she wasn’t here.”

          Magnus grabbed the last string of sanity he had and called the one person who might add some context to the situation. “Octavian.”

          “Magnus? What’s going on?”

          “I was hoping you could tell me.” Tessa scowled at him until he pressed Speaker. “Where the hell are my children?”

          “And my daughter,” Tessa added.

          “At the loft probably. I spoke to Rafe a few days ago, and he didn’t say anything. Why?” They told him. “Look, if those three were going to do something exceptionally stupid, they wouldn’t tell me. They know I have the girls.”

          “I thought you Blackthorns were all about breaking laws.”

          “‘ _ Lex malla lex nulla. _ ’ A bad law is no law. We ignore bad laws like underage drinking, racism, and unauthorized Portal activity, or, you know, laws that aren’t advantageous to our immediate interests—Oh Raziel, they summoned a Greater Demon!”

          Magnus didn’t relax, but he could feel himself breathe again. “So have we all. Max hasn’t drawn a pentagram that failed since he was six. And they’re not stupid enough to summon a Prince.”

          “Not a Prince. Kronos, one of the old demons from before the Princes. The Greek titan of time.”

          So much for breathing. 

          “Max was hired to look into the Staff of Àchristos,” Tavvy continued. “I thought he was joking about asking the previous owners, since they’re all dead.”

          “And Kronos fits in how?” 

          “He was the last known owner.”  

          It was a new feeling: this kind of fear. A gut-wrenching ache that numbed him from head to toe. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t supposed to like it, but that didn’t change anything. Fear rose from helplessness, and Magnus wasn’t used to feeling helpless. There was always something, a spell, a solution that could help, but outside of summoning Kronos, he was lost.

          “Tavvy, hang tight. We’re coming to you.”

***

 

**_Los Angeles, 2037_ **

          Octavian Blackthorn leaned against his kitchen counter while Magnus and Tessa threw metaphorical daggers at each other over the table. His wife Allison kept making faces at him across the battlefield. “Okay,” Tavvy interrupted. “So us summoning the Greater Demon is a definite?” 

          They had been fighting about it for about twenty minutes. 

          “No. It’s a terrible idea!” Tessa disagreed.

          At the same time, Magnus argued, “It’s our only option!” They continued to wage war with glares and passive-aggressive hand gestures.

          “I’m sorry Tessa, but Magnus is right,” Allison cut them off. “The only one who can give us answers is Kronos.”

          All three looked to Tavvy who shrugged. “I’m always down for summoning a Greater Demon.”

          “You shouldn’t be.” 

          “The fact remains,” he continued. “That we have no idea what happened to them. Sure, there’s always a chance that whatever happened to them will happen to us, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. The only way we’ll know anything for sure is if we do the summoning. If we don’t, we’ll just be running around in circles.”

          Tessa sighed in defeat and resignation. “We warlocks will get the summoning ready.”

          “We’ll go arm up.” Allison looked a little too excited to be committing a crime. She kept tapping her thighs with anticipatory energy.

          Magnus shook head. “You two aren’t coming.”

          "Yes we are,” Tavvy argued.

          “Then who’s going to watch your hellions? They can’t exactly babysit themselves.”

          Tavvy and Allison shared an annoyed look. “Oh right,” Allison said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We have children. What ever will we do?” 

          “I have siblings,” Tavvy said. “They can watch the kids.” It had been like this since they’d gotten married. Suddenly, people expected them to be more mature and want to do things besides the trouble they got into when they were younger. After Julia, their eldest, was born, it got ten times worse. He wouldn’t trade her or her sister for the world, but he was sick of the special treatment.

          “And what will you tell them?” Magnus asked. “That you’re taking the weekend off? That you need some  _ alone time _ ?”

          “Oh please, they know us too well,” Allison scoffed.

          Tavvy appreciated but ignored her. “Is that what you’re telling  _ your _ husbands?” he taunted. 

          Tessa and Magnus exchanged a look. “No.”

          “There’s no need to make them worry.” 

          Tavvy grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket. He pressed the screen a few times. “Dru, hey.” He paused to listen. “Can you do something for me? Can you watch the girls for a little bit?” He paused again. “I don’t know exactly.” Another pause. “What are we doing? We’re summoning a Greater Demon with our friends’ parents.” A longer pause. “Great! Thank you so much!” He hung up. “Dru will watch them.”

          Tessa hung her head. “I forget sometimes the things you Blackthorns just shrug off.” 

          “She probably thinks I was joking.”

          Allison laughed. “And if she thought you weren’t, she’d want to come too.” She stretched her back, then called out, “Julia!” 

          The sound of scampering feet came from the other room. A little girl with bouncing brown curls and glistening Blackthorn eyes skidded into the room, slid on the kitchen tiles, before coming to a stop at her mother’s side. “What?”

          “You and your sister are gonna have a sleepover with Aunt Dru. Come on, let’s go pack a bag.” She waved the rest of them to proceed while she followed her daughter up the stairs.

 

          Two hours, an uncomfortable drop-off, and one awkward shopping trip later, Magnus, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison stood around a pentagram, anxious to learn what had happened to Max, Will, and Rafe. They were also anxious about summoning a Greater Demon, but for different reasons. 

          Magnus had rented a warehouse for the occasion. He and Tessa had spent the first hour setting up Wards and the second lighting candles and drawing on the floor. He hoped it was enough. It should be enough, but it might not have been for his children. 

          What he wanted to do more than anything was call Alec. He knew Alec wouldn’t believe the half-assed story about Ragnor Fell needing backup that he’d quickly texted when they left for LA. He wanted to sob in Alec’s arms, but he couldn’t worry him. Not until he found answers.

          “Are we gonna do this or what?” Tavvy asked. 

          Magnus sighed dramatically. “I call upon you Kronos, demon titan, yada yada, demon who last saw my kids; you know who my father is; I summon you!” 

          “I do know who your father is, though I don’t care for his authority,” drawled the green skinned demon who stood in the center of the pentagram, rolling his yellow eyes. “This is the second time today I’ve been bothered. What now?”

          A chest pang rocked through Magnus. He wasn’t built for this much stress. “Rafe, Max, and Will. They did summon you?”

          “Yes. Is that all you wanted to ask?”

          “What did you do to them?” Tessa demanded.

          “I didn’t hurt them. I would never. They’re far too interesting for that.” He looked them over one by one. “Your daughter especially,” he directed at Tessa. “Or maybe that was the other one. No, I’m right. I apologize. I sometimes forget when I am.”

          “So what did you do to them?” Magnus repeated Tessa’s question. He didn’t have time to unpack all that Kronos said, so he focused in on what was important. “You may not have hurt them, but you did something.”

          “I Portaled them somewhere, somewhen more entertaining.”

          “What do you mean by ‘somewhen?’” Tavvy asked. 

          “A Time Portal,” Tessa realized. “It’s just a theoretical concept, but you can open them, can’t you? That’s why they call you the lord of time. When are they?”

          “The year it all went to hell, Tessa Herondale-Carstairs.” He gave them an exuberant bow and disappeared. 

          “He’s not bound by pentagrams,” Allison pointed out, feeling stupid.

          “No,” Magnus agreed, but that wasn’t what he cared about. He turned to Tessa. “He addressed you specifically. When are they?”

          “1903,” Tessa replied. “Probably in London too.”

          “So we know when they are,” Tavvy urged. “How do we get there? You mentioned a Time Portal?”

          “I have a friend who studies Portals,” she explained. “He had a theory that if we edited the formula, we could use them to travel through time, as well as space.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll call him, see what he says about it.”

          “And then what?”

          “We’re going to 1903.”

***

 

**_Lambeth, London, 1903_ **

          “I don’t know a lot,” David Jefferson clarified, “about the Vault.” 

          Rafe returned to stand in front of David. “Well, what do you know?” he asked. “Is there anything you can tell us? Anything at all, even something you don’t think is important.”

          “I know where it is.”


	5. A Legacy of Curses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone returns to the Institute to find Lucie unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars." -Jack Kerouac, On the Road

**_Devon, 2020_ **

          Hidden inside a fortress made of blankets and pillows, Will Carstairs and her mother played with balls of colorful light. Will siphoned little drops of Tessa’s power and played bumper cars with the lights, crashing them into each other and sending them spinning off to the far corners. 

          “You’re brother James used to play with a spoon.” 

          “I like the lights,” Will responded, crashing two lights together, exploding them into dozens of smaller lights. “James could turn into a shadow, right?”

          “Yup.” 

          Will thought for a second. “Why don’t you ever talk about Lucie’s power?” 

          “Lucie’s power was a little different.”

          Will wasn’t sure what that meant. She guessed it was one of those things her mother didn’t like to talk about. “Because it was a curse?”

          “No!” Tessa exclaimed a little louder than she intended. “None of your powers are a curse. Even when times get tough, and people try to convince you otherwise, your powers are a gift.”

          “Then why don’t you talk about Lucie’s?”

          Tessa sighed. “You’re relentless, you know that.” Will’s insistence reminded her more of Lucie than either girl would ever know. She considered her next words carefully. “I don’t like to talk about Lucie’s power because it came with a lot of pain. She did so many wonderful things with it, but, to be honest, it scared me.”

          “How?” There was so much innocence in Will’s eyes. Tessa realized suddenly that she was glad Will’s power had manifested so early and that it was so...normal. 

          “There were things she could do and things she knew. I don’t think anyone should have had to carry that burden.”

          “Okay,” Will replied. “What’s a burden?”

          Tessa laughed, and all thoughts of darkness and death vanished before she answered.

***

 

**_London, 1903_ **

          “I suggest that tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, we should travel to the Vault and see if we can gain entry,” Will Herondale told Rafe and Tessa as their carriage drove away from the faerie boarding house. 

          David Jefferson had told them everything he knew: the Vault’s location and some of its safeguards. Rafe hadn’t mentioned the Staff of Àchristos, but a Vault of magical weapons seemed like a more than probable location. It might even be a connection, but he’d have to wait until he heard what Max had to say about the witch to learn more. He said as much to Will and Tessa. 

          “Yes,” Will agreed. 

          “And whatever Rosemary and the children found,” Tessa added.

          It was strange for Rafe to see how in sync they were. It was more than just the cliche of finishing each other’s sentences; their thoughts were on the same frequency. She had the same connection with Jem in the 21st Century. 

          You couldn’t spend an hour with Jem and Tessa without the name Will Herondale coming up in one form or another. Rafe didn’t know if just Tessa was in love with him or if they both were. Sitting across from them in a carriage, he wondered what Will would think of Jem and Tessa’s new life, and his reaction to learning who “Rosemary” actually was. 

          He tried not to make his examining Will obvious. He saw the similarities between Will and his dad. It was enough to justify the comparison being made, but not as often as it was. They both had black hair and a general passing family resemblance, but Will’s eyes were a darker shade of blue. His dad’s were more ice blue. He looked away before he was caught.

          The carriage soon rolled up to the Institute. Rafe got out first, then Will, then Tessa, who grumbled about not needing Will’s help to exit a carriage. She hadn’t changed much, it seemed. 

          It took them longer than it should have to notice there was a problem. The Institute being quiet wasn’t a cause for concern as the majority of its occupants were meant to be in the Library. When they left the main entrance, they started to notice the wreckage. Things were out of place, smashed, and ripped. The further in they went, the faster they moved, the greater their panic. 

          Will reacted first. “What happened?” he asked the air. It took Rafe a second to remember the London Institute had a ghost. “Jessamine, you are not making sense. Where are my children?” He ran off, leaving Rafe and Tessa no choice but to follow.

          “Took you long enough,” Magnus Bane said, when they reached him, leaning against the wall outside of the infirmary door. He opened it, letting Will and Tessa in but stopped Rafe. “He is not going to let you in.”

          “Who? What’s going on?” 

          “James locked your fiancée in an empty bedroom, Max as well. I am supposed to escort you there now.”

          Rafe leveled with the man who one day would be his Papa. “Will you?” 

          He could feel Magnus’s eyes judging and considering. “Yes. Not because I think of you as a threat, but because this situation does not need to be complicated by a teenage Herondale with trust issues.”

          It made sense, but Rafe still didn’t like it. “Then imprison away.”

          Magnus led him down the hall away from the infirmary. They stopped by a door, which Magnus unlocked. He ushered Rafe in dramatically by bowing and gesturing. On the other side of the door Max lay sprawled out on the bed, and Will sat on the floor. They both looked up when he entered. Magnus fluttered his fingers and closed the door. They could hear the sharp click from the lock.

          “What happened?” Rafe asked. 

          Will gave a sigh of extended length. “I wish I knew.”

 

          The weight shifted around James’s heart when his parents walked in, then settled back exactly where it was, pressing down on his aorta and cutting off oxygen to the rest of his body. He sat on the floor at the foot of his sister’s bed. She had fallen unconscious when she killed the demon and hadn’t woken up since. 

          Will cleared his throat. “Jessamine says there was a demon attack?”

          “Yes,” he replied.

          “And that Lucie killed it with warlock magic?”

          “It felt the same way it feels when I use mine. It was a blast of energy.” He paused. “I passed out the first time I used mine, so this is probably just...that.”

          “I’ll go summon Jem,” Tessa suggested.

          “I already sent a fire message. He’s on his way.” James could tell his voice was devoid of emotion, like he was speaking through a filter. Pressure beat down on him like he was under water. 

          “Then we will wait for him.” Tessa took Will’s hand and drew him to the side of Lucie’s bed. James pushed himself to his feet to watch. 

          She looked somewhere between sleep and death, lying there. Her chest rose and fell slowly with a simple rhythm. James could see Will’s throat bob as he swallowed down fear or anger. Tessa lay a hand across Lucie’s forehead. “It is times like these I wish I knew more about magic.”

          “We have Magnus and we have Jem. They’ll figure something out.” Will turned to his son. “Is everyone else all right?”

          “Yes. Cyril and Abigail are in their rooms. I sent Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas home. Matthew kept pacing, Christopher was trying to rationalize everything, and Thomas tried and failed to keep the peace.  I locked the time travelers in an empty bedroom.” 

          “Why?”

          “The demon was summoned inside the Institute. Jessamine can confirm. We just invited three strangers with a ridiculous story who are obviously lying to us into our home. I don’t want them in the way until we learn more.”

          James watched the glance his parents exchanged. He knew they thought he was crazy, but his parents could be too empathetic sometimes. 

          “Take us through what happened, step by step.”

 

          When Brother Zachariah arrived at the London Institute, the Herondales and Magnus were sitting in chairs around Lucie’s bed. Will stood when he walked in and half-walked, half-ran to throw his arms around him, then dragged him to Lucie’s side. “Help my daughter, Jem. Please do whatever you can.”

          “ _ Magnus Bane, you know more about warlock magic than I. Do you know of any precedent for something like this? _ ” 

          “The closest thing to a precedent is James. I think it’s clear that whatever power Lucie has is not the same as James’s. I will say this. The energy pulse seems like it was a side effect, not the power itself?”

          “Why do you say that?” James asked. 

          Magnus shrugged. “Magic always has side effects. Usually the effects are internal, tiredness or even injury, but not always. Sometimes we instinctively lash out to save ourselves. I think Lucie’s power, whatever it is, manifested to save her life.”

          “As did mine,” James agreed.

          “ _ A side-effect of the power itself or its release, _ ” Jem added. “ _ A good thing it did. _ ”

          The rest of them watched his examination, though there wasn’t much to see. He wouldn’t have let anyone else in the room, usually, but he made an exception for them. There was little wrong with her physically that hadn’t been healed by James’s iratze. He was trying to probe her mind when he found the next strange thing. 

          “ _ There is something blocking me from accessing her mind or memories. _ ”

          “What?” Will asked. “Like a mental wall?”

          “ _ Perhaps. _ ” Being a Silent Brother had dulled his ability to feel emotion the way he used to. Even still, he didn’t have the heart to tell Will, Tessa, and James the truth. That there was no wall in Lucie’s mind. It was that Lucie wasn’t in her own mind. “ _ There is nothing else I can do for her. We just have to wait until she wakes up on her own. _ ” If she woke up on her own.

          Will nodded, and threw his arms around Jem again. “Thank you.” Will buried his face in Jem’s shoulder to hide his tears. 

          “Will, why don’t you go sit down?” Tessa suggested. He nodded and slumped into his seat. “Jem, can I speak to you outside?”

          “ _ Of course, _ ” he followed her out of the infirmary. 

          After she closed the door behind them, she asked, “What’s really going on? I can tell when you’re lying.”

          She was a spark of vibrant light. Being this close to her, he almost felt like Jem again. Like at any moment, he would spring back to humanity. “ _ I agree with Magnus about the side-effect theory. _ ”

          “And about her state?”

          “ _ I have no idea what is wrong with her. Or if there is anything we can do to help her. _ ” 

          “Lucie’s wanted to know what power she has since James’s manifested. She’ll probably think of this as an adventure.” Tessa wrung her hands. “She is so strong-willed and wild. If she put her mind to something, there was nothing any of us could do to stop her.” 

          “ _ She sounds like her mother _ .”

          A smile forced its way onto her face. “She is a little too much like me, I fear. Stubborn, optimistic, if I keep listing adjectives, I won’t stop. We never give her enough credit. What I’m trying to say is that whatever’s wrong with her, she’ll find a way to pull through. I know she will.”

***

 

**_???, ???_ **

          Water rushed over her, under her, and all around her. There was nothing but the water. It sent a cold shiver through her skin, into her bloodstream, and wrapped cold around her internal organs. There was nothing but the cold and the water. She tried to open her eyes, but all there was was dark, just the dark and the deep running water. Lucie Herondale was drowning. 

          She couldn’t tell which way was up. She curled herself into a ball to let natural buoyancy decide. Her back broke the surface first. She lifted her head out of the water and took a shuddering gasp before she was dragged back down under. She picked a direction perpendicular to the current and swam as hard as she could. Sand and rocks greeted her hands. She wrapped her fingers around the rocks to drag herself out of the water.

          The current was pulling her forward and away from the bank. She lost her grip on the rock and slipped back. 

          Someone caught her arm. Hands gripped her under her arms and pulled her out of the water. She collapsed on the bank, vomiting up water. 

          When she was done, she opened her eyes. They landed first on the boy who had rescued her. He had dark hair and bore Shadowhunter Marks. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. He was staring at her with a look of confusion and fascination.

          The water she had nearly drowned in was a river. On her side was roiling fog, but the far side was clear. No, everything was hazy. No, that wasn’t it either; it was like the colors were all muted. 

          “Where—” she coughed, then started again. “Where are we?”

          He was still staring at her. “This is the Veil.” His accent was English. 

          “The Veil?” she asked. 

          “The Veil between Life and Death.”

          Lucie let that process for a second. She remembered the demon attack and the wound it had given her. The feel of its claws tearing holes in her flesh and then nothing. “Does that mean I’m dead?”

          “No. You are alive.”

          She almost cried in relief. She wasn’t dead. The rest of her thoughts were all a swirl. She didn’t fully understand where she was or how she got there, but at least she wasn’t dead. “How do I go back?”

          “You can’t.”

          “But I am alive. I am not dead. I am not trapped here.”

          “The river is the boundary between life and death.” He pointed to the far side of the river. “That side is for the living. This side is for the dead. Every so often, a living person crosses into the Veil, but they never cross the river.”

          “Oh.” It took everything Lucie had not to cry. “Then how is it that I am here? I was never on the other side. I was in the living world, and then I was in the river.”

          “I truly am sorry, but there is nothing you can do. Once here, there is no going back. You either wait here or you keep pass through the door to the other side.” 

          He started to walk away from her, leaving her alone on the river bank. Alone in a colorless void. Alone in the Veil. Alone.

          “Wait!” she called after him. “What is your name?”

          “Do the dead really need names?” he shouted back to her.

          “What  _ was _ your name, then?” she rephrased. She needed something, anything, to keep her grounded. A name would do.

          He stopped and turned around to face her. She could see through his hard mask to the pain buried beneath. He was lonely. “Jesse Blackthorn.”

          She gave him a smile to replace the sun at the end of the world. “Lucie Herondale.” 

          “It is nice to meet you Lucie Herondale.”

 

          “Tell me about your family,” Jesse requested as they sat side-by-side by the banks of the river. They could have been sitting there for seconds, hours, or for years. Time meant something different on the dead side of the river. 

          “Well there’s my father Will. He’s a good man, a good father. A little on the dramatic side when he chooses to be, but he has a good heart. People tell me I act like him. They say I look like my mother, act like my father, and that they hope I’ll mellow out the way he did.” 

          “Mellow out? Why?” 

          That surprised Lucie. She didn’t know Jesse Blackthorn, had only met him a second, an hour, a year ago. Strangers typically called her names and told her she was “delightful.” Lucie had liked it until she realized “delightful” meant “unconventional” which meant “bad.” 

          “They don’t like that I am the way I am for a lot of reasons. Least of all my mother.”

          “They don’t like your mother or your mother doesn’t like the way you are?”

          Lucie let out a less-twinkling laugh that she usually tried to have. “Both, I think. My mother is a warlock  anomaly. She’s a Shadowhunter by blood but also half-demon.”

          “I can see why people wouldn’t like that.”

          “Yes, but she’s wonderful. Brave and compassionate. She has this way of delivering motivational words in her general speech. I don’t even think she realizes that she does it. I used to think it was annoying, how I would just be sitting there reading, and she would come in spouting something meaningful about human nature or the world.”

          “But you don’t think she likes you.”

          “No, I know that she loves me. I just think she is impatient with me. They all are. My Brother James too. Everyone’s too busy pushing me aside to realize that I’m more than just Will Herondale’s sweet, crazy daughter. I’m a skilled fighter and a decent strategist.”

          “But no one gives you your due.”

          Lucie gave him a hard stare. “Are you being a friend or a psychoanalyst?”

          Jesse laughed, actually laughed, a surprising feat for a dead boy. “A friend, I hope.”

          “Good. I need more of those.”

          He looked at her, surprised. “I would think a girl like you would have many friends.”

          “A girl like me! What does that mean?” She continued speaking before he could stammer an answer. “I have my Cordelia, my parabatai, whom I love with my whole entire heart. But I don’t see her nearly enough. Then there is Matthew, my brother’s parabatai, who is just darling. And my cousins Anna and Christopher and my cousins’ cousin Thomas. And Alexander, but he is toddler. They’re your cousins too actually; you’re Tatiana’s son.”

          “I am,” Jesse agreed.

          She fiddled with her hands, weaving her fingers in between each other in different combinations. “Cordelia is the first decision I ever made for myself. I wanted a parabatai, so I got one.”

          “I get that. My mother was always very overbearing.”

          “I don’t know a lot about you,” Lucie admitted. “I know that you were sick. That’s what, uh—”

          “Killed me,” he finished. 

          “My brother helped out your mother a few times, and your sister. My brother’s always doing things like that. Except recently. I am actually a bit worried about him.”

          “Why?”

          “He’s gone off the rails. Sneaking out at night, getting into trouble. And he won’t tell anyone why. It’s like he just snapped one day.”

          “Sounds like a broken heart,” Jesse suggested. 

          “There’s no one to break his heart,” Lucie scoffed. “Unless he had a secret girlfriend he never told anyone about, but James is not like that. He is not that kind of person.”

          “Maybe you idealize him too much.”

          “Perhaps. I think I’ve always been in my brother's shadow. People look at him and they see Will Herondale. When people look at me, I’m just another girl with blue eyes and mischievous grin. People take James seriously. They tell him things, invite him places, and he gets things. I feel like an afterthought. I’m a supporting character in my own story. 

          “Even now that he’s acting out, or whatever. Instead of ‘look at this amazing accomplishment James did,’ it’s ‘James got drunk with Downworlders’ or ‘James fell in the bloody Thames!’ For once, I want to be recognized for something  _ I _ did. I want do something on my own, for myself.

          “They don’t tell me anything either! There’s time travelers, and I didn’t know until James brought them to the Institute. Magnus Bane, a man who has been a legend in my childhood stories, dragged my brother back home and no one bothered to wake me up! 

          “Oh you don’t get it. You’re dead! You don’t have a future to look forward to.”

          “Lucie,” Jesse interrupted. He had been staring at her throughout her rant with a look she couldn’t decipher. “Let me show you something.”

          He stood up and held out a hand to her. She accepted, and he pulled her to her feet. He led her deeper into the fog, away from the river. They walked in silence for an undefinable quantity of time. Soon, a light cut through the rolling fog. The light transformed until a door. 

          “What is this?” she asked.

          “The door to the afterlife or whatever comes after this.” 

          The door shone with light Lucie had no words to describe. It was etched with runes that looked like Marks, the language of angels, and other symbols too that she didn’t know recognize.

          She wanted to stare at him, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the door. “Why haven’t you—why are you still  _ here _ when you could be  _ there _ ?”

          “Whatever  _ there _ is, you mean. Why should I? I know this place. I do not mind pointing the direction to the door to others who need it, but for me? I did not spend long enough in the living world to feel comfortable in any afterworld.”

          Lucie finally broke free of the door’s thrall. She looked to Jesse, bathed in light. “I am going to find a way out of here, to go home.”

          “If you can.”

          “And one day, maybe not today, but I vow to you, that I will find a way to bring you back.” She said it with a force she didn’t know she possessed. A certainty that she had never known before. “Let’s go back to the river.” 

          They did. When they reached the shore, Lucie followed the bank, until she found a trail of rocks, that crossed partway across the river. 

          “I am going to use them to cross back over.”

          “You can’t go back.”

          “I’ll do it anyway.”

          Jesse shook his head, not in denial, but in sheer spellbound majesty. “You have a fascinating view of the world, Lucie Herondale.” 

          He looked up into her eyes. They were both tall, but he was still taller than she was. “May I…?” He trailed off.

          And then she kissed him. 

          She pulled away. “I am going to bring you back.” Then she turned away from him, and stepped out into the river, on top of the first rock. 

 

          “Wait!” She looked back at him. He stood at the edge of the river. “Take me with you. It’s not the same, but…” 

          She stretched out a hand, which he took. Together, they stepped from rock to rock, until the reached the final one, which was large enough for them both. “Trust me.” Lucie gripped his hand tightly as she closed her eyes and leaned, toppling them both off of it, down through the river, and into the void. 

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          Lucie’s eyes shot open. She bolted upright, scaring James. She looked around at her family, her Uncle Jem, and Magnus Bane, who were all sitting or standing around her. She saw Jesse as a ghost in the corner of the room. 

          She gave them all a brilliant smile. “I think I know what my warlock power is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this was always really Lucie's story.


	6. The Man Who Invented Time Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 2037, Tessa calls her friend who studies Portal for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.” -Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

**_Devon, 2022_ **

          There were many people who came to Cirenworth when Will was a child, her mother’s friends mostly, warlocks and others Tessa had collected over time. Her favorite was a man who fell out of a Portal when she was three. He had smiled at her and asked to see her mother, while still lying on the grass of the lawn. She had cried for her mother, and Tessa had run out, laughed, and invited the man in for tea. 

          He stopped by more often after that and in less interesting ways.

          Tessa called him her uncle, but Will had a lot of aunts and uncles who weren’t actually related to her. She also called him her cousin and, once, her brother, so for many years Will had no idea who he actually was. The only brothers she had were Kit and James, and this man was neither of them.

          She was nine the first time he sat her down to talk. Apparently, he was an adventurer who explored Portals, especially the space in between them. It was very dangerous, but he had the courage of a bear. 

          “Are bears very brave?”

          “They’re braver than horses.”

          She took that at face value and asked, “Are you a warlock?” Will was fascinated by warlocks. She could siphon power from them and perform magic. 

          “Me? Oh, no. I work with warlocks, but I’m not one myself. They open the Portals, I do the rest.”

          “That’s really cool!”

          “Thank you, thank you. I wasn’t always this dashing hero. I used to be a terribly boring person. Then one day, I had this jolt of inspiration...”

***

 

**_Los Angeles, 2037_ **

          Tessa paced the length of the warehouse, phone to her ear. The man on the other end of the line was quiet for a time, then he finally replied. “A Time Portal? Not with the current design of the Portal, no. We’ve tried. The spell only allows for travel across space.”

          “But is it possible?” 

          “If we take into account space-time as a single object, just about anything is possible. I would have to rework the theoretical components, redraw the designs. I have no idea how long it would take.”

          “So, you’ll do it?”

          “May I ask why you need a Time Portal?”

          Tessa sighed loud enough for Magnus, Tavvy, and Allison to look over at her. Magnus raised an eyebrow in question. Tessa rolled her eyes in response. “Will, Rafe, and Max got into some trouble. I have to go bail them out. More than a century ago.”

          An exuberant laugh came through the phone loud enough Tessa had to move it away from her ear for a few seconds. “One of your children got in trouble with two Lightwoods. You’re one Fairchild short of a pattern.”

          “I’m starting to question why we’re friends.”

          He stopped laughing. “May I ask how they got to the past?”

          “A demon.”

          “I see. I’ll do it. May I just ask where you are?” She told him. “Thank you. I’ll see you in three, two...” He hung up.

          A purple and green Portal appeared in the center of the warehouse. The man who stepped out grinned at them all and bowed. “One.” Everyone in the room stared at him, either out of shock or curiosity. He straightened and brushed imaginary dust off of his unnecessarily fancy and unnecessarily green waistcoat. “There’s no need to thank me, Tessa. It only took us four months of experimentation.” He introduced himself to the rest of the group.

          “I didn’t know anyone was studying Portals,” Tavvy remarked. 

          “No one is.” The man winked at him. 

          “I see,” Tavvy replied, though he didn’t.

          “Well,” Tessa interrupted. “How did you do it?”

          “And more importantly,” Magnus added. “How do we recreate it?”

          “Magnus, you are, of course, familiar with the original design and spells used to create the Space Portal, as we’ve started calling it. Here,” he pulled some papers out of his pocket, “is the design and spell for the Time Portal, although technically it’s a Spacetime Portal. It can do both.” 

          Magnus ruffled the man’s hair. “I’m glad you’re finally good for something.” 

          “Uh, thanks?”

          Magnus accepted the papers. He flipped through them, reading them over. “It’s only a simple modification to the spell itself, but not something I ever would have thought of. Henry would be proud.” Henry, of course, referred to Henry Branwell (sometimes known as Henry Fairchild after his wife, children, and descendants’s surname), the man who co-invented the Portal with Magnus himself. Henry was forgotten by most of the world, who preferred to give solo credit to the warlock. The Clave and Magnus, on the other hand, refused to acknowledge his contribution, stating that Henry did 99% of the work.

          The man grinned. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

          “So we can go back in time?” Allison asked. 

          “Yes,” the man answered. “It’s not a miracle though. When you travel, you will need to have a set time in mind, down the second. If you just think of a year and pray, it probably won’t take you when you want to be.”

          Tessa, Magnus, Tavvy, and Allison exchanged a glance. “Do we know the exact time?” Allison questioned.

          “Do you know any way to track a closed Portal?” Tessa asked the man.

          “I don’t, but I can ask around.” He waved at them and slipped back through the Time Portal. It vanished once he crossed through. 

          “So he is studying Portals?” Tavvy asked. “How did he get the idea to do that?”

          Tessa nudged Magnus. “He got the idea from you.” 

          “Me? How did I inspire it?”

          “You told him once, in the 90s I think, to go wander into a Portal and never come out. So he did. The Spiral Labyrinth loves him for it.”

          “The 90s? He looks so young,” Allison observed.

          Tessa laughed. “He’s older than he looks. I’m surprised Will never mentioned him. She absolutely adores him.”

          “He’s a warlock then?”

          “No, not at all. He prefers to keep his identity to himself though. I respect him it. A lot of Downworlders change their name to protect their identity or those they care about or for other personal reasons.”

          The Time Portal reopened, returning the man. He was accompanied by a dark-skinned warlock with purple scales on her head instead of hair. “May I introduce my friend and colleague Teodora.”

          “I can track a closed Portal,” Teodora confirmed. “I’ve never tracked a Time Portal, but the magic shouldn’t be any different. Where was the Portal?”

***

 

**_New York City, 2037_ **

          While Magnus watched Teodora work, fascinated, Tessa and the man stood off the side talking. “The Staff of Àchristos? I’ve never heard of it.”

          “Neither had I, but Will and the boys were after it for some client.” She paused. “I suppose this means they didn’t seek us out in 1903 because we would remember if they did.”

          “Not necessarily.” At her look of confusion, he continued. “I may have invented Time Travel, but I don’t know exactly how it works. My best guess is what they actually did was create an alternate universe. When they went back in time, they actually went to a separate universe.”

          “And if we go back, we’ll go to the same universe?”

          “I wish I had a way of confirming that for certain, but I’ve studied Portals to Thule. This Portal was opened by a demon. Its basis isn’t in Gray Book runes. It’s only demonic runes. Portals across universes are the same. I tried to incorporate that into the Time Portal I gave Magnus, not for Thule obviously, but with an exception for the universe, if you will.”

          Tessa rubbed her temples. “There’s no guarantees about anything here, is there?”

          “Welcome to my world.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the entire room. “The worst that will happen is breaking the spacetime continuum.”

          Tessa’s laugh was half-hearted. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

          He shrugged. “I’m just telling it the way it is.”

          “Hardly, you’ve never been blunt a day in your life.”

          “No,” he agreed. “I’ve always been sensational, in my happiness, my depression, and my rebirth.” He absentmindedly tapped a steady rhythm on the wall. “I’ve become the self-examiner lately.”

          “I think it’s is very impressive, what you did, who you’ve become. The man who invented time travel. We could rewrite history, write the future. Think of all the possibilities.  ” 

          “I admit I’m mostly thinking about the bad ones.” He moved his hand from the wall to run it through his blond hair.

          “That’s one of the differences between us, I suppose. Over all these years, I’ve let myself become an optimist.”

          “I used to be an optimist. It didn’t last long.” He turned toward her, to look her in the eyes. “Hold onto it. The world needs more people like that.”

          On the other side of the room, Magnus’s attention was entirely fixed on Teodora working. “It’s all in the residual magic,” she explained. “This was cast by a demon, not a warlock, which makes it a little more difficult, but not impossible.”

          Magnus shook his head, impressed. “I’ve never spent any time in the Spiral Labyrinth. I guess I’m missing out,” he admitted.

          “Maybe on some of the cooler spells.” She laughed. “The food is just terrible though. And it’s not like I have time to marry or have kids. So, we’re the ones missing out on that.”

          “I wouldn’t give that up for the world.”

          Teodora put her arms down, magic winking out. She slipped a notepad out of her jacket pocket and scribbled down a few lines. She tore out the page and handed it to Magnus. “That’s when and where they arrived.”

          Magnus read the lines three times before a smile took control of his face. “Teodora, you are a genius. I will never be able to thank you enough.”

          “I don’t need any thanks.”

          “Thank you anyway.” Magnus practically ran to Tessa to stick the paper in her face. She read the lines and smiled too. “We’re actually doing this.”

          “We are.”

          Tessa turned to the man beside her. “Do you want to come with us?” 

          He shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I should return to four months from now.”

          “Agreed,” Teodora said. 

          They set up their Time Portal. Teodora crossed through first. “Oh, Tessa, if you see me before I solve this, don’t mention it to me. I don’t want any spoilers.” Then he disappeared into the Portal, and it vanished behind him.

          Tessa and Magnus both breathed a sigh of relief. “And we should get back to LA,” Magnus pointed out. “We have a Time Portal to activate.”

***

 

**_Los Angeles, 2037_ **

          The Portal was purple and green, the perfect image of the one they’d seen before. They stood before it, each one whispering where and when they needed to be. They’d decided not to arrive exactly when Will, Rafe, and Max had, but a day after, just in case of a trap or an attack. None of them were sure whether they were about to start a rescue mission, an adventure, or something entirely different. 

          Tavvy and Allison were both heavily armed. Magnus and Tessa had rested, letting their magic refuel. They would take no chances. 

          “Are you ready?” Magnus asked the group.

          “Not remotely,” Tessa confessed. “But I suppose I never will be.” 

          Tavvy and Allison shrugged their consent.

          One by one, they stepped through the Time Portal to 1903, uncertainty, fear, and excitement hanging over them like clouds and shadows.


	7. One Minute to Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Rafe, and Max are asked a few questions about the demon summoning. Bridget investigates a possible lead. Magnus, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison arrive in 1903.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Midnight's the only time where you can be both in the past, present, and future.” - Rachel Van Dyken, The Consequence of Revenge

**_London, 1903_ **

          Bridget Daly had spent her life around Shadowhunters. She could understand why many would prefer to serve mundane families where the risk of dying was much lower, but she loved the adventure, the drama, and excitement that life with Shadowhunters had to offer. She adored the Herondales most of all because they treated her as an equal and let her do whatever she wanted. 

          She hadn’t been in the Institute when the demon attacked. She had come home to find Lucie unconscious, James transformed into a dictator, and Cyril pissed as a hungry tiger. He’d covered for Abigail to the Shadowhunters, but he confessed to Bridget: Abigail wasn’t in the Institute either and hadn’t told him that she was leaving. 

          Jessamine had confirmed that there had only been one demon and that there was no sign of it hurting her. This left two options. First, that whoever had summoned the demon had kidnapped Abigail. Second, that Abigail was the one responsible. Bridget was determined to figure out which one it was before she told anyone else. 

          The position of maid at the London Institute was almost perpetually vacant since Sophie ascended (Bridget held no animosity toward her for it, in fact she had no desire to ascend herself and never had), and Bridget wasn’t fond of most of the girls who’d come to fill it. She had a knack of looking at a person and being able to tell whether she trusted them or not. Abigail had immediately rubbed her the wrong way, but Bridget was growing older now and less patient with doing all the cleaning as well as the kitchen work, so Abigail was hired anyway.

          A decision Bridget was now kicking herself for.

          Living among the Shadow World had given Bridget contacts of her own. Unsavory people and other Sighted mundanes who would rather speak to one of their own that the allbut-police force that didn’t like their presence or activities. 

          It was one of these contacts she headed to meet now. When she reached his home, she knocked on the door, and he ushered her inside. “Bridget? I did not get a message saying you would be coming by.”

          “It’s all business today, Wendall. And an emergency, I am afraid.”

          “You better come sit down then.” He led her to his sitting room and cleared some nasty looking objects off an end table before he sat down across from her. 

          “Have you heard of a woman named Abigail Mitchell?” she asked, wishing she had a picture to show him. “It might be an alias. She’s a mundane with the Sight. Brown hair, unassuming, average looking.”

          “You just described half the women in London, Bridget. I need more than that to go on.”

          “She works as a maid at the Institute. She was hired recently and keeps to herself. I wish I knew more about her.”

          Wendall scoffed. “Is this Shadowhunter business? You know I don’t like to get involved with that.”

          There were some things that Wendall was good for. Finding people especially because he knew everybody. If he didn’t know someone, he knew of them or someone who knew them. He was a criminal, technically, though she wasn’t sure if he’d ever committed a crime himself. There were other, lesser people who could do that for him.

          “It’s not Shadowhunter business. It’s  _ my _ business. I think she summoned a demon into  _ my _ home.”

          “Which is the Shadowhunter Institute. You should get out of there. Stop working as a servant. You could be queen of my enterprise.”

          Bridget sighed. She was used to it by now, but it never stopped being annoying. “I am happy where I am, Wendall. Now do you know the girl or not?”

          Wendall thought for a second. “I know a lot of witches. Some covens do more real magic than others. There’s one that’s been around for a while. The Followers of Amalia Everette. Investigate them if you think there’s real magic, dangerous magic, involved.”

          She stood up and thanked him profusely. “I knew there was a reason why I always come to you for help.”

          “It’s my charm, darling. Oh, marry me, Bridget. Leave your old life behind and run away with me,” he proposed as she left the sitting room.

          “No thank you, Wendall,” she called back.

          “Ah, but one of these days you will.”

          No, Bridget didn’t think she ever would, but if he thought so and gave her free information because of it, there was no reason to tell him otherwise. 

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          Lucie Herondale sat on top of her bed, finally freed from the infirmary. “It is ridiculous,” she announced to Jesse Blackthorn, who hovered at the foot of her bed. “They don’t listen to me, and they don’t care that I just made an amazing discovery.”

          “I am sure that is not true,” he tried to reassure her. 

          She didn’t take it. “You were there! You saw it! I tried to tell them about the Veil and the river and the other things I have this gut feeling that I can do, but Mam just told me to rest. Even Uncle Jem won’t listen to me.” She let out a long, dramatic, and pouty exhale. “I feel like I am being petty. Of course there are more important things happening than me, and I can always tell them later.” She attempted to smooth her skirts for a sophisticated look but failed. 

          “Lucie,” Jesse interrupted. “It seems to me that you have become so used to being ignored that you are not even trying to put yourself in a position where they cannot ignore you.”

          He could see the offense leak onto her face. 

          “Think about it. You’re sitting in here complaining to me while your parents are talking with the time travelers. You have to force yourself into their business, or they won’t ever take you seriously.”

          “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted, “but it doesn’t make me feel better.”

 

          Will, Max, and Rafe were still locked in the same bedroom James had shut them in. Rafe sat with his back up against the headboard. Will rested her head in his lap. Max had forfeited the bed but kept the blankets and now lay curled up in a nest on the floor. 

          It had only been a few hours, and the sun hadn’t even begun to set, though evening was on its way. It occurred to Will that they hadn’t even been in 1903 for a whole 24 hours. Less than a day and so much had happened. 

          They were all startled by the soft knock and the click of the lock before the door swung open. Will removed her head from Rafe’s lap and sat up. Her half-brother stood in the doorway, framed like a dark angel without the wings. 

          “My parents want to ask you a few questions.” 

          “How is Lucie?” Will asked, ignoring his accusatory glare. 

          “Awake.”

          “That’s good!” 

          James didn’t share her outward enthusiasm. He stepped into the room and let Will Herondale and Tessa follow him. Tessa frowned at Max’s nest, but didn’t say anything. Max made no move to change his position. 

          “We are terribly sorry about the circumstances here,” Will Herondale apologized. “I am sure that once  we clear this up, we can, uh, avoid any future confusion.” 

          He was embarrassed by James, she realized, that James had locked them up. A trickle of something moved through her. Maybe pride? Satisfaction? Little sister instincts finally activating in regards to James? She was probably just happy someone else agreed their treatment was ridiculous.

          “It’s very easy to clear up,” Max replied. “We didn’t do anything.” He looked up at Will and Rafe on the bed. “Sounds good to me. We’re free to go.” Rafe shot him a withering look.

          Will Carstairs decided their chances were better if they rationalized their way out. “You were with us the entire time. When would we have the chance to summon a demon? It’s a time consuming process.”

          “We understand that,” Tessa sympathized. 

          “But there still is the fact that you have not been completely honest with us,” Will Herondale finished. 

          They were being tag-teamed, Will Carstairs realized. It was the same strategy her parents used in the 21st Century, but she wasn’t used to Tessa playing “good cop.” Her father always did that. The other element she wasn’t used to was James’s golden eyes boring into the depths of her soul.

          “Just tell us the entire truth, and we can continue working to help you home.”

          Will, Max, and Rafe exchanged a series of glances that bordered on telepathic communication. The end result of the silent conversation was Rafe shifting into a diplomatic smile and explaining. “The only demon we summoned was Kronos, the demon titan, in 2037. He opened up a Time Portal of sorts and sent us back in time. We decided it would be in poor taste to confess that we’re here because of our involvement with a demon.”

          “He says ‘our involvement,’” Max clarified. “It’s not like we were friends.”

          “Yeah, add that to your records. Definitely not friends,” Will Carstairs added.

          “Kronos?” Will Herondale repeated, surprised. “Of course he is real.”

          “Yes, and I’m sure he eats a lot of children,” Will Carstairs brought their attention back. “I’m sorry that someone summoned a demon in your Institute, and we would love to help you investigate.” She locked eyes with James. “I know we’re strangers. You don’t know us, so of course we’re your first suspects. But someone attacked all of us today. I was in the library too. I hope we can move past this and find out what actually happened.”

          “Well put,” Will Herondale answered. James’s nod was reluctant but still existed.

          Tessa smiled. “I am glad we settled that.” She kissed her husband on the cheek. “I am going to go check on Lucie.” She left the bedroom.

          Will Herondale studied Will Carstairs for another second, as if he wanted to ask another question, then changed his mind. “I am sorry you were locked in here for so long. You’re free to go.”

 

          “I am surprised to find you still here,” Tessa remarked, when she found Magnus loitering outside the room. “I thought you would have left.”

          Magnus shook his head. “I think I am of more of use here than I am elsewhere. And I don’t need Ragnor to take me out drinking for another night in a row.”

          Tessa laughed. “I suppose that is true.”

          “You think they’re innocent?” He motioned to the closed door.

          “I think they have found themselves in a bad situation, but they are not the ones responsible. They are simply young and making the mistakes that young people make.” She paused. “There is something worse on its way, I think.”

          “A sense that our troubles are only beginning,” Magnus agreed. “You know that feeling in the air, the last warm day before autumn. It’s like it’s one minute to midnight or the moment directly before disaster. All it takes is for the clock to tick.”

***

 

**_Westminster, London, 1903_ **

          Bridget was surprised to find the headquarters of a magic cult close to the government, but, then again, mundanes who participated in magic cults tended to be rich, influential, and easily swayed by the promise of power. Government officials were all of those things. 

          She was also surprised how easily they had let her in. All she did was knock on the door and tell them that she had spoken to them at the Shadow Market and was interested in joining, and they brought her in for a tour. 

          The building itself was nothing special. She was led down a series of hallways, shown meeting rooms, and found nothing out of the ordinary. She hoped there were secret rooms, otherwise cults were getting boring these days.

          The main room of the building was filled with Followers hurrying about, as if in preparation for something. They were mostly women and they wore blue robes. 

          “Is there an event soon?” she asked her tour guide, a young woman named Nicole. 

          “Oh yes! Would you like to come?” Nicole asked. Her voice was high-pitched and sonorous. Bridget wondered if she was a singer. “You will not be able to participate, of course, but you are welcome to watch.” 

          Bridget was starting to wonder if Wendall had lied to her. This behavior was more in line with religious cults than demonic ones. She was about to make her excuses when she noticed what was being drawn on the floor in the room’s center. A giant summoning pentagram.

          “Do you have some sort of vetting process? Anything to make sure I can be trusted before you let me in?”

          Nicole smiled. “Our founder believed that everyone should be able to learn magic. We open membership to anyone who is willing to learn.”

          It was the stupidest idea Bridget had ever heard. “That is noble. What are you planning on doing?” she asked, hardly breathing. 

          “We are summoning a demon!” Nicole exclaimed. “Exciting, don’t you think?” 

          “Yes,” Bridget forced a smile. It didn’t come naturally to her at all. “What demon?”

          “Kronos! We met a member of ours who travelled back in time from the future who mentioned the demon. We did our research and decided to try summoning it.” 

          “Do you have a warlock helping you then?” Bridget assessed their likelihood of success. “To do the magic itself?” 

          Nicole shook her head. “Our leader was able to summon a Lesser Demon earlier today with a small power source. We have a plan already in motion to get a stronger source. Our leader will do the summoning herself.”

          “Your leader?”

          “Well, there she is, right there.” Nicole pointed to a few yards away from them. Wearing a blue robe, but nicer than the other Followers, and talking a group of others through laying candles was Abigail. 

***

 

**_London Streets, 1903_ **

          The Time Portal dropped Magnus, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison on the street. They all looked around, taking in their surroundings. For Magnus and Tessa, it was a familiar sight, like returning home after being gone for a long time. For Tavvy and Allison, it was stepping into another world (which it was). 

          “Let’s go to the Institute,” Tessa suggested. The rest agreed and followed her into the city thrall.

          They were less than halfway to the Institute when someone intercepted them. Tessa recognized that he had fairy blood because of his pointed ears, though her focus was drawn to the bruise forming on his head and that he was bleeding.

          “Thank God! I need your help!” 

          “What happened?”

          From behind her Magnus exclaimed, “Daniel Jackson?”

          “Oh great, there’s more time travelers!” He nearly fell over. Tessa caught him and held him up. “And it’s David Jefferson!” 

          “Right, I knew it was something like that,” Magnus muttered.

          “What happened?” Allison repeated Tessa’s question.

          “I was attacked.” He gasped for breath between each sentence. “I was attacked. And they hit my head. They were after Staff. Staff of Àchristos. They think I know where it is. I got away. I ran. Here. Help me.”

          “Okay, calm down,” Tessa encouraged. “Start from the beginning.”

          “There’s no time! I told them the Staff is in the Vault. I need you to come with me and get it before they can.” 

          “I don’t know. Three women, blue robes.”

          Magnus swore exquisitely. “The Followers of Amalia. They could do some serious damage.”

          “How bad?” Tavvy asked.

          Magnus ran his hand across his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but enough damage that I think we need to find this Vault.”


	8. Amalia Everette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Flashback through certain events of Magnus Bane’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “To die and leave love behind is its own tragedy. Or maybe not.” -A.L. Wegeng

**_England, circa-1700_ **

**** Festivals, carnivals, and anywhere else where mundanes let the word “magic” escape their lips in a breath of wonder were an escape for Magnus Bane. They weren’t like the Shadow Markets where he had to always keep one eye pointed behind him for fear of attack and the other one in front of him in case of fairy (or anyone else’s) trick. The age of witch trials was slowly coming to an end, and Europeans were whispering magic.

Magnus also liked festivals because they entertained him. Psychics and women in Romani garb, regardless of their own heritage, sold crystals, claimed to do magic, and told fortunes. He liked to hear their regurgitated ideas: that he would find true love (he hoped), live a long life (warlocks tended to), get married (unlikely), and have many children (impossible). He would get rich was another common one.

The “psychic” at the current festival was set up in a tent of brightly colored silk. Magnus ducked through the curtains to find a young woman sitting at a small table. On it sat a deck of cards. His eyes, however, were drawn to her. She had dark hair that contrasted her light eyes, either blue or grey, he couldn’t tell in the dim light. Her features were soft but defined. She was very beautiful.

          “Welcome to the Palace of Mysteries,” she stood and bowed, “where the lines between past, present, and future cross.” She pulled out a chair for him and ushered him to sit down. “Would you like to know what is to come?”

          “I would.” He handed her a few coins.

          She took the cards in her hand and began to shuffle. “Tell me when to stop.” She shuffled once, twice, three times before he stopped her. She placed the deck on the table. “Now cut the deck.” He split the deck into two uneven halves and then reversed their order. He handed it back to her and a card fell out, landing face down on the table. 

          “Cards that fall out are often meant for the reader,” she explained. She picked it up and looked at it, puzzled. She placed it off to the side, facedown again.

          Satisfied, the “psychic” began to lay the cards out in a simple pattern. “Interesting,” she said, studying the spread. 

          Magnus frowned when he saw the cards. He read them over and over again. The Page of Cups, Death, The Devil, Five of Wands, Four of Wands, Ten of Swords, Ace of Wands, Page of Swords, The High Priestess, and The Magician. “I take it I should be concerned?”

          “Not exactly.” She was still frowning. “The Page of Cups, that is you. Your challenge is Death.”

          “How is Death not concerning?” He had never learned to read tarot himself. Telling fortunes wasn’t part of a warlock’s typical repertoire. 

          “It does not mean literal death. It means a complete and total transformation. Are you currently in a state of change?”

“No.”

“Then you will be very soon.” She touched the next card. “For most readings, I would tell you not to take this card literally as well.” She studied him like she could see his cat eyes through his glamour. He checked to make sure it was still in place. It was. “In your case, I believe it may be more literal.”

“I am being haunted by the devil?”

“You innermost thoughts are.” 

She wasn’t wrong. The thought of his demonic heritage was always present in the back of his mind. It was unnerving.

“The Five of Wands. You feel as though you are being attacked. There are others around you who do not agree with you or your beliefs.”

“Go on.”

“The Four of Wands. I do not believe I have ever seen this card in this position before, especially following a journey of change and conflict.” She studied him again. “You want a rest. You believe taking a break from the conflict will help you.” 

“Doesn’t taking breaks always help?”

“Not always.” 

The next card in the spread featured a man being stabbed in the back with ten swords. “The Ten of Swords is no easy card.”

“What does it mean for me?”

“In this position, likely nothing. You fear suffering and tragedy. That the consequences of your actions will come back to haunt you. That you will end up like him.” She motioned to the man on the cards. 

“And the next card?” Magnus asked, wishing to move as far away from the Ten of Swords as he could get.

“The Ace of Wands. Inspiration and creativity. Something important is going to begin for you. Follow it; it will help you out of your conflict.”

“What is beginning?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but don’t fight it when it happens.” She tapped the next card with her finger. “The Page of Swords represents the truth, or a search for the truth or for knowledge.”

“So I should search for the truth?”

“No! The opposite. Your quest for truth is will only hurt you.” 

“Right, and the next card?”

“The High Priestess. You should step away from your immediate concerns and focus on yourself. I think your idea to take a rest may actually help you.”

“I always thought that card represented magic.”

“And I always thought it represented me.” She shrugged again. “Your last card is The Magician. Its position in the spread is your outcome, what all of this journey,” she waved a hand over the rest of the cards, “will lead to.”

_ The Magician _ , he thought,  _ the Warlock _ . “Do I take this one literally or no?”

“Both,” she replied. “Your power is larger than the physical you. It seems your change and conflict will pay off. You will leave your journey stronger and smarter than you are now.” 

“That does sound good.” He smiled at her. “Thank you.” He readied himself to stand and leave and then hesitated. “What was your card? The one that fell out.”

“Oh nothing.” He didn’t move. She flipped it over, and The Lovers stared back at him. 

Magnus Bane left the tent feeling as though he’d just woken up from a vivid dream. There was something about that psychic. She wasn’t like the others who had given him readings or crystal ball scrying. She was the closest thing to the real deal he’d met in a mundane. She was mundane, he could tell that much. 

A noise from behind him caused him to turn. The psychic was run out after him. “Wait, warlock, wait!” she called. She stopped in front of him. “Teach me magic. Real magic.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked him to teach them. He tried to brush it off. “Humans can’t do real magic.” 

“I know how it works. Humans can use power sources like magical objects to gather enough energy to power spells. I’ve seen it done, and I want to learn myself, but no one will teach me.”

“You already do magic. You can read people’s futures in a deck of playing cards. Is that not enough for you?” 

“Anyone with a little faith can learn to read tarot. It’s just memorization and reading people when they walk in,” she argued. “Please, please! I am begging you to teach me what you know.”

Others may have asked him to teach them, but none of them were quite like her. 

“I will teach you,” he agreed. “What is your name?”

“Amalia Everette.”

***

 

**_A few weeks later_ **

          When the candle in front of her lit, Amalia let out a sound of absolute glee, which broke her concentration, and the candle flickered out. 

“Focus,” Magnus chided from his position leaning against the wall. “Again.”

“I did it,” she announced, giddy pleasure still echoes on her face. 

Magnus was starting to have a new understanding of what Ragnor must have gone through teaching  _ him _ magic. He had been much younger than Amalia when his teacher had given him the same exercise, as well as wilder and less eager to learn. What she lacked in inherent power, she made up for in effort. 

She was still looking at him, and he realized that he’d been staring at her. “Do it again,” he repeated. “And this time, keep it lit.”

She clutched the bauble she was using as a power source tightly in one fist while she spoke the spell to light the candle. It lit again, burned for a few seconds, then flickered out. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t get it. Things like this take time.” What Amalia didn’t know was that the candle itself was spelled to flicker out. It had been decades after his own training when Ragnor had revealed the trick. Tomorrow, he would give her a different candle, and it would stay lit. The purpose of the exercise was to teach her patience in addition to a fire spell. On one hand, he felt bad about tricking her. On the other, he didn’t.

She tried for the next half hour before he called an end to the session. “You can try again tomorrow.” 

Her disappointment radiated off of her in waves, but she carefully packed up the candle and the bauble and put them away. 

“Amalia,” he reassured. “Don’t get discouraged. You were able to light that candle. Focus on the small miracles.”

That night, just after midnight, he found her sitting in front of the candle, lighting it and watching it flicker out. She fell asleep on the floor, her power source still wrapped in her fist. He watched her sleep. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a raven disarray. He had noticed her beauty when they first met, and he noticed it again now. 

         He left her there and went to bed.

She was awake when he came to get her the next morning, but the expression she wore wasn’t hopeful or angry. It was nervous, he realized. She was nervous. “The candle is spelled, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “That candle is. This candle,” he showed her the one he was going to replace it with, “is not.”

“So this was a test?” Her tone changed as she realized. “I was supposed to figure out it was spelled?”

No, she wasn’t supposed to figure it out, but she had. It was close enough to a test. “Yes,” he lied. “You passed with flying colors.” 

She had learned something, and so had he. He’d learned that his new pupil was brilliant. And that he just might be in love with her.

***

 

**_Two years later_ **

          It wasn’t as if he’d lived without love, though in a way he had. He was less than a century old, practically infancy for a warlock. He had never loved, not the way he loved her. 

          He’d had lovers. Women and men who had kept him company on the long nights he didn’t want to remember his own immortality and haunted his thoughts on the longer ones when he couldn’t forget he would outlive them all. It was nothing but abject denial that kept him from knowing he would outlive her too.

          The first time he kissed her was after she mastered a spell some less skilled warlocks couldn’t perform. If there was flirtation, he didn’t notice it. Or maybe he had but was too caught up in noticing everything about her to care. She had almost imperceptible dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. And on the days when the sun shined, he told her her eyes were the same color as the sky.

          They moved into a small cottage at the edge of the woods. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. They planted a small herb garden in the yard and built a shed to store all the magical items for Amalia.

          They learned everything about each other. That Magnus had no musical talent and Amalia couldn’t cook. He taught her everything he knew about magic and she taught him about tarot and the ancient practices of the druids. 

          The next ten years slipped into an effortless routine of love and the exchange of knowledge.

***

 

**_Ten years later_ **

          “It doesn’t make sense to me,” Amalia said during breakfast one day, “that there are those who want to learn magic and those who magic could help. But they can’t learn magic because of taboos and secrecy.”

          “Warlocks have been persecuted for centuries,” Magnus explained. “Human burn us as witches. Many of the Shadowhunters who promise to protect us hunt us and keep our marks as trophies.”

          “No one has burned a witch in England since I was a baby,” she pointed out. “I think anyone who wants an education should have access to one.” It was the same ridiculous idealism that Magnus subscribed to. 

The next day they traveled to London to spread the word that they were taking students. The first group was small, only five students, but they were devoted. Amalia taught them herself with exercises Magnus had done with her and some they made up themselves. 

          Slowly, their small cottage transformed into a school. Word spread over the years and those eager to learn flocked to them like pilgrims. They brought tents and camped in the yard and in the woods behind the cottage. 

          Caterina called him a fool and Ragnor called him an idiot, and Magnus Bane called himself a foolish idiot in love with a woman and an idea. They could change how humans interacted with magic. It didn’t need to be something left in the dark. The so-called “Shadow World” didn’t have to stay in the shadow if ordinary humans learned that what was different didn’t need to be feared.

Amalia loved her students, and they loved her. She found that teaching was something she was good at. Magnus loved to watch her teach. He loved the smile on her face when one of her students succeeded at anything. He loved the way she approached anything magical like it was the greatest of miracles. 

“You’re my first love,” he told her one night as they lay in bed. “But I am your second.”

She frowned at him. “You are my first love, actually.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Magic is your first love.” She didn’t deny it.

***

**_Twenty years later_ **

“I am glad to be learning basic magic, but I want to do something more.” All of Amalia’s students said it one time or another. It was more common among the younger ones. 

“There are different kinds of magic, Fausily. Some magic we should not do.” She had learned over time what her students meant when they said “something more.” Not everyone who flocked to her came to learn to heal or do simple rituals. There were always those who came for the other promises of magic: power, ability, and resurrection. 

          “Why not?” Fausily asked. “What is the point of magic if we cannot use it to do what others say is impossible? To help ourselves be better, live better lives?”

          “Magic is not going to fix all of your problems. You need to use your brain and your heart as well.” 

          “I understand. Thank you.” Amalia could tell that Fausily was not satisfied, but she thought nothing of it. They never were.

          That night, she and Magnus were woken by shouts. They rose from bed to find fire spreading through the forest. 

          “What happened?” Amalia demanded. No one knew.

          Magnus rushed to put out the fire. Amalia followed him through the charred trees until they found the source sitting in the center of a ring of candles, the grass outside it burned away.

          Fausily held a small magical object in her palm, drained of power. She looked up at them as they neared with a dazed look in her eyes.. “He said…he said…”

          “Who?”

          “There was someone…he was a man but not a man. He told me…he told me that I could get power. That I could—” she broke down into hysterics. 

          Amalia kneeled down in front of her. She wiped a tear from Fausily’s cheek. “Magic is always dangerous. The way I teach you is the safest way I can. I hope you learn from this.” She pressed a kiss to Fausily’s forehead and left, Magnus trailing behind her. 

          If she had waited another minute or looked back at her student, she would have seen what Fausily hid under her dress. She would have seen the tears vanish from her face and be replaced with a smile. But she didn’t look back, and she didn’t see. 

          Fausily didn’t return to class the next morning. Whispers said she left for the city and created her own whispers of the name Amalia Everette. Whispers that anyone could do anything. Whispers of magic.

***

 

**_Circa-1760_ **

As the decades passed, the school waxed and waned. Her students came and went. Some of them found their way to Fausily, to temptation and the seduction of even a small taste of power.

          Change happened at an exponential rate. Amalia’s hair turned grey. Magnus’s did not. Amalia’s muscles weakened and her body began to ache with age. Magnus’s did not. Amalia died. Magnus did not.

          It wasn’t a particularly beautiful day or a particularly ugly day, the day it happened. It had been years since they had students, preferring to spend their last days together alone. Amalia lay in his arms when she slipped from one life to the next. 

          He buried her outside the cottage that had been their home and their school. He planted an oak tree on her grave and carefully grew it with magic until it stretched to match the trees in the forest. 

          He used equal care to burn the cottage to the ground. 

          He walked alone to the nearest town, lost in grief and retrospect. Ragnor and Caterina met him there with the unconditional love and support of three people who only had each other.

***

 

**_London, 1857_ **

          Magnus Bane didn’t think about Amalia, not even when a pretty young woman of the same name smiled at him in the polite yet reserved way Shadowhunters had for Downworlders they didn’t know. He didn’t think about Amalia as he walked down the streets of London. He didn’t even think about her the first time he heard the name “Amalia Everette” in a century. 

          It wasn’t that he repressed her memory or that the very thought of her would cause him to break down into senseless grief. He preferred to remember her for her stubborn strength and determination and when he chose to.

          Sometimes she broke through anyway. Linette Owens was a prime example, and Edmund Herondale’s look of stunned fascination made him a vibrant mirror of who Magnus had once been.

          Magnus didn’t know how many times he walked past the blue cloaked girls before he realized their words were “Amalia” and “Everette” and “magic.” He knew her students had students and that they had students in return, but not to this extent, not that her name would still be spoken a century after her death.

          Though Magnus Bane was over two centuries old, he still hadn’t grasped the full extent of human potential. 

          So he returned to blissful forgetting and walked away. 

 

          He wasn’t in London when he learned what Amalia’s students had become. He had already moved onto the next adventure, with the promise of age dedicated to Camille Belcourt still staining his lips. He left London and returned and left again, and the world moved on without him.

          In the 1860s, brother killed brother on a battlefield in America. 

          In 1878, a boy with blue eyes stood with rain dripping from his black hair in front of Magnus and looked at him with the same desperation and longing of the soul Amalia had when she asked him to teach her magic. 

          In the 1890s, he saw crime and poverty rise amongst the poor, while the rich laughed in their gilded mansions.

          In 1903, he saw love in a form he’d never understood before: Will, Tessa, and Jem’s love for each other and their children that transcended human restraints. The same night, he saw the depths of hell that only love and the human mind could send a person.

          In 1914, the world went to war, the War to End all Wars, but of course it wasn’t.

          In 1937, he told Amalia’s story, his story, to Tessa in Paris to help her overcome the incomprehensible weight of losing true love.

          In 1945, the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

          In 1953, Magnus learned to open his heart and show kindness to someone regardless of what he got in return.

          In 1991, he fought in a battle against a cult who hated him simply for existing.

          In 1993, he opened his heart again and helped a mother protect her child. 

          In 2001, terrorists hijacked airplanes and destroyed the Twin Towers, killing thousands in the city he called home. 

          In 2007, he learned that he would kill and die for love. That same year he fought in wars, almost died, and saw rights and equality advanced and curtailed. 

          In 2009, he became a father for the first time and learned another truth about unconditional love. 

          In 2012, he saw how hate could work its way to the highest ranks of government. He gained his second child and saw how love the right way could reshape a child’s life. He married the love of his life, something that would have been impossible just a few years before.

 

          This was how Magnus learned the truth about humans.

          Power is potential. All humans have the potential for absolute good and absolute evil. For love and for destruction. The same curiosity that drove Amalia to start a school could breed greed and in the hearts of others, a thirst for power that could destroy or reshape or the world. 

          That humans, in all their variations, are the most wondrous and most dangerous creatures. 

          Amalia handed power to her students. Once that power was out there, it could never be taken back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long. I’ve been super busy and haven’t always had reliable Internet connection these past few weeks. I am still writing, even if it might take a bit of time to finish each chapter.


	9. The Vault I: The First Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget updates the rest of the Institute about the Followers' plan. Tavvy fights a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cheating is often more efficient." - Jeri Ryan

**_Devon, 2020_ **

          “I don’t know how it works,” Will told Max and Rafe as they sat in the lush gardens outside Cirenworth. “It just does.” She was trying to explain her warlock ability but to no avail. She couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe it, how she did it, the way it felt, the little thrill that filled her when she saw the result: magic.

          She grabbed Max’s hand and lit a small light in the other palm. Max was ten and not accustomed to girls grabbing his hand. He shook her off and pulled away. The light persisted for a few seconds then blinked out. 

          “When I feel magic I can use, I just sort of pull. Then I can do magic.”

          Max flexed his fingers. “I can feel it.”

          “It doesn’t hurt, right? Mama never said that it hurts.”

          “No,” Max agreed. “It doesn’t hurt. It feels like using magic, but I’m not controlling it.”

          Rafe, who was almost thirteen and liked experimentation, watched the interaction. “Is it just warlocks?” he asked. “Or can you take magic from objects too?” His Papa had been teaching him how to use magical objects to power spells. It was all about object placement and math and theory, but he wondered if the concept was the same. 

          Will considered for a few seconds. “I’ve never tried.”

 

          It was easier than Rafe expected to steal a magical object for the next time they went to visit. The adults left them alone in the garden, so there was little chance they’d be disturbed. 

          Rafe held the object up. It was a small necklace that glowed bright green. Will tried to take it from him, but he held it higher, out of her reach. “If we’re going to run tests, we have to do it properly. No playing around, okay?”

          “Okay.”

          He handed it to Will, and she cupped it in her hands. Her smile was brilliant and exuberant. “I can use it!”

          “Yes!” Max exclaimed. 

          “Good,” Rafe agreed. This would have been boring otherwise. “Now take just a little bit—a _little_ —and do that light thing you did last time. Tell us if it feels different.”

          She lit a small light in her palm. “It feels the same, I guess.”

          “Okay. Will, normally do you have to use the magic immediately, or can you store it?”

          “Probably.” She concentrated, then handed the necklace back to Rafe. 

          “Max, did you bring the timer?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Start it. We’re gonna test if the magic fades over time if she doesn’t use it.”

          Will had not expected her magic ability experiments to involve her not doing magic, but she swallowed her complaint. Instead the three of them played hide and seek in the garden. Max used magic to win even though it was against their rules. 

          After an hour, Rafe asked Will to try using magic again. She lit the same palm light as before in response. “I don’t think it goes away if I don’t use it.” She waited barely a second before spouting. “What’s next?”

          Rafe ruffled her hair. “I have a long list.”

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          “Kronos?” Tessa gave a meaningful look to her husband. “The demon Kronos?”

          “Yes, and they are summoning him tonight.” Bridget had rushed back to the Institute after hearing the Followers’ plan. She had just finished updating everyone about the situation. 

          “It can’t be a coincidence,” declared Will Carstairs from the side of the room, where she stood with Max and Rafe. “The Followers of Amalia are summoning the same demon that we summoned to get here.” There was no point keeping it secret anymore when more than half the people in the Institute knew anyway. 

          Lucie was the only notable absence from the room. Her parents had decided to leave her in her room to rest, so she didn’t have to worry about a Greater Demon during her recovery.  Will Carstairs wondered if her sister would rather know, recovery be damned. She thought that Will Herondale might feel the same because he kept looking in the direction of the door, as if he saw something or was waiting for someone. 

          “No coincidence,” James agreed. 

          “The Followers of Amalia are dangerous,” Magnus added. “They are more than mundanes playing with powers they don’t understand.”

          “We’re going to stop them regardless,” Will Herondale asserted. “With Lucie’s condition, there are seven of us who are able to fight, if we leave Bridget and Cyril in charge of the Institute. That is, if everyone here is willing.”

          James and Tessa both nodded in agreement. Will Carstairs engaged Max and Rafe in silent conversation. “This is our fight,” she relayed when they were done. “We summoned this demon to get here, and we’ll stop him from being summoned again.”

          They all turned to Magnus. He shrugged. “I have a personal investment in the downfall of the Followers.”

          “Then it’s settled,” Tessa decided. “The seven of us will head to Westminster to prevent the Followers from summoning Kronos.”

***

 

**_London Sewers, 1903_ **

          Of all the places to hide a supernatural Vault in London, Magnus Bane had not expected the sewers. To begin with, he hadn’t expected the Vault to be in London, but it seemed that everything was London. So why not? 

          They had been sludging through the sewers for half an hour. Tavvy and Allison walked in front, supporting David Jefferson between them. They each held a witchlight in their other hand. Magnus and Tessa trailed behind them, exchanging looks and the occasional word.

          “I’ve never heard of the Followers of Amalia,” Tessa commented to Magnus. “Who are they?”

          He sighed. “You know how I accidentally started a cult after my first love died?”

          “Yes.”

          “Well the Followers are the cult my first love accidentally started.”

          Tessa couldn’t stop her snort from briefly echoing around the tunnel. “I don’t know why I expected anything less.”

          Up ahead, Tavvy and Allison (and David, by extension), stopped. Magnus peered through the witchlight to see down the tunnel. The rest was blocked by a large wooden door. 

          David held up a hand. The Blackthorns loosened their grip on him, letting him stand on his own. He turned around and moved one hand behind him to hold himself up. “This is the main entrance. It’s the only one I know the location of. After we open the door, there are three trials we have to face before we can go into the Vault itself.”

          “Three trials—what is this? A fairy tale?” Allison asked.

          “Yes. The Vault was built by fairies,” David replied. “And run by them, so anything goes.”

          “What are the trials?” Tessa redirected their attention to a more relevant side of the conversation. 

          “I know that the first trial is a combat challenge and the second is a mental challenge. I wish I knew more. I don’t know what we’re expected to fight, but I can guess that the second trial is a riddle.”

          “And the third trial?” Tavvy asked.

          “No idea,” David admitted. “Sorry.”

          Magnus decided it was time to step in. “A fight, a riddle, and a mystery. No offense, Mr. Jefferson, but you won’t be completing any trials.”

          David looked down at himself and then back at the hand keeping him supported. “Agreed. I should probably stay here.” Tavvy and Allison resumed supporting him to help him away from the door. He sat down against the wall of the sewer tunnel. 

          “We’ll come back for you when we get the Staff,” Tessa promised.

          Together, Magnus, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison pushed open the door and entered the first chamber of the Vault entrance. 

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          “Your maid belongs to a cult that is summoning a Greater Demon. Everyone is leaving to go fight it,” Jesse told Lucie as he returned to her room after eavesdropping on the Institute meeting. 

          “We’re Shadowhunters. That’s what we do.” Lucie was still upset about her parents reaction (or lack thereof) to her announcement about her demonic power. 

          “You’re not invited.”

          Lucie collapsed back onto her bed, annoyance leaking off of her in waves. “Of course I’m not.”

          “But you’re going anyway?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. There was nothing about this brilliant magical girl that spoke of forfeiture. 

          “Are they even coming to tell me? Or do they hope I just won’t notice?” Though she hadn’t moved from her reclined position on the bed, her body tension was more like a coiled rattlesnake, preparing to attack.

          “Your father is on his way.”

          “Good. He’ll be easier to convince.”

          She leapt up out of bed and appeared across the room.

          “Where is my gear?” Her closet door was open and she was pushing aside dresses with frustration. Finally she pulled out a hanger of dark leather gear. “I have to change. Go stall my father.”

          “I’m not going to go talk to your father.”

          “Why don’t you go bond with Jessamine then? Your names both start with ‘Jess.’”

          “Lucie.”

          “And you’re both dead. You can start a club.” 

          Jesse sighed and phased through the door. He walked—that was the easiest way to describe it, though it wasn’t walking—down the hallway. It was more like moving forward without physical exertion, just by thought alone, though his legs still moved. 

          He’d still had a physical form in the Veil, something that could touch and feel. He was a true ghost now. Rumor had it he would learn how to interact physically with time and practice. Or possibly if he was able to take more energy from Lucie, but that wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t use her that way.

          He stepped aside to blend into the shadows, nearly missing Will Herondale on his way to see Lucie. Will hesitated when he passed Jesse, as though he could feel that Jesse was there. Jesse presses further into the shadows. Will moved on to Lucie’s door and knocked. 

          On the other side of the door, Lucie had just finished changing into her gear. She called for her father to open the door, while she planted at the center of the room. He paused in the doorway when he saw her.

          “You already know.”

          “Yes! And I’m coming with you.”

          Will entered the rest of the way into the room, closed the door behind him, and sat down on Lucie’s bed. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, like he was nervous. Lucie crossed her arms and waited.

          “Lucie, you were unconscious just a few hours ago. It isn’t wise.”

          “That doesn’t matter. If you just listened to me, you would know that I can help!”

          “You’re young. You haven’t yet learned that sometimes there are things that should be left to others. Especially if you’re ill or injured.”

          “You mean Jamie?! James gets to go because he and I are different? Because he’s more reliable? You don’t have to worry about him getting injured? Because no one but me has ever been hurt in combat? Not that I was even actually hurt.”

          Will sighed. “That is not what I meant. And you were injured, badly injured. You should be resting. You’re probably tired—”

          “Da, you don’t understand. I _am_ tired, tired of being left out. I am sick of people treating me different because of who I am. I know I’m not the same as James. I am sick of being judged or scorned because of my blood or because I don’t act the way they expect me to.” She took a deep breath. “I am not ill. I am not recovering. I am fine, and I am going with you on your mission.”

          Will didn’t react immediately. He let the silence hang between them for a second, and then another, and another. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “You will still have to convince your mother.” 

***

 

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          It was like stepping through a portal into another world. Tavvy wasn’t sure that they hadn’t. The sewer wall was still behind them, though the ground had transformed into earth, and plants grew like a small artificial forest. The ceiling was impossibly high, though it was visible through the trees. There was some kind of natural, artificial, or magic illumination because the witchlights were no longer needed.  

          They stood at the beginning of a dirt path. With the door shut behind them, they had no choice but to follow it until the path widened into a ring. 

          “A fairy combat arena,” Allison announced. “In the middle of a forest in a sewer. My three favorite things.”

          “If only we knew our opponent,” Tavvy added.

          “Hey fairy bastards!” Allison shouted. “We heard a rumor about a fight!”

          Everyone else turned to stare at her in alarm. “Great idea,” Magnus muttered. “Startle whatever it is.”

          The fairy who stepped out of the woods had silver hair that fell to his waist and skin the color of blue delphiniums. He wore a leather tunic and boots. He was quite striking to the eye, though the assorted Shadowhunters and warlocks noticed none of it because he was followed by a monster.

          It was either reptilian or a mammal with tough, thick skin. Two-pronged horns jutted out from the sides of its head. Its powerful back legs ended in hooves while its front ones had claws were visible even when sheathed. 

          Tavvy’s hand unconsciously went to his blade. He ran a mental check of every weapon he had on him and what around him could be used if needed. He was sure his wife was doing the same, probably the warlocks too, though they could be counted as weapons themselves. 

          The fairy looked at each of them in turn, taking just long enough to make the current subject uncomfortable. “Which one of you is champion?”

          Champion. Of course they wanted a champion. It made sense that even in combat with a monster, the fight would be one on one. Fairies were cruel that way. Before the words were out of the fairy’s mouth, Tavvy had already made his decision. 

          He stepped forward. “I am.”

          He hadn’t expected a positive reaction from the rest of the group, and he wasn’t wrong. Allison hit him in the arm. “The rest of us didn’t agree to that,” Tessa told the fairy. Magnus nodded his agreement.

          “I’m the best choice and you all know it.”

          “Hey!” Allison argued. “I can fight just as well as you.”

          “I know that’s not what I meant,” he corrected. “If this challenge requires a champion, the others probably will too. My talents are fighting and making connections that other people overlook, not solving riddles. You guys are better suited for whatever the mystery challenge will be. That leaves me for this.”

          It was clear that this wasn’t Magnus and Tessa’s decision to make, so they stepped back to let Allison have free reign. She moved directly in front of him and put a finger in his face. “If you die, I will resurrect you just so I can kill you again. And I will tell our children that your brother is their father.”

          “My brother?! Which one?”

          “Don’t die and you won’t have to find out.”

          Tavvy kissed her on the cheek, then turned back to the fairy and his monstrous opponent. “It’s agreed. I will be the champion.”

          The fairy nodded. “The fight is to the death. If you win, you all move on. If you lose, another of you may challenge my champion.” 

          “Agreed,” Tavvy said.

          “Then may I suggest that the rest of you leave the ring.”

          While the rest left, Tavvy took his place as the center. The fairy bowed to him then gestured to the monster. As he stepped back into the trees, the monster charged. Tavvy was able to dodge the initial attack, which sent the monster charging into empty air. He had his sword out in less than a second. “ _Azriel,_ ” he named it.

          When the monster turned around, Tavvy was ready. It stared him down, then charged at him again. This time, as it neared, he swung his sword, but the blade didn’t even break the skin. It still had too much momentum to immediately stop, so Tavvy had enough time to recover before the next charge. 

          He had other weapons than his sword. The throwing stars would be useless. The knives were inefficient (they usually were). He had a pair of brass knuckles tucked in his boots, but getting that close was a worse idea. Tavvy suddenly wished he had a spear, so he could just plant and let the monster charge to its own death, impaled. He wasn’t sure that the spear wouldn’t snap against the monster’s skin, though. The seraph blade was still the best option.

          He let the monster charge him a third time, which he dodged, giving him time to think. It wasn’t a demon, he’d confirmed that now. It hadn’t reacted at all to the adamas of his sword. That made the fight more difficult. The beast had weaknesses. It was slow, for one, and its size made it difficult to stop and start or change direction. 

          He had a lot of ideas as to how to kill it, though most of them were dumb and he knew it. Piercing its brain through the roof of its mouth, blinding it might actually work, ripping off its own horns to use as weapons…

          Tavvy was too distracted to notice when the next attack started. He caught his mistake, but not in time to dodge or properly attack. Instead, he tried to duck under the monster. “ _Fuck!_ ” was his last thought before the beast’s enormous claws ripped into him. Then he thought of something else.

 

          Allison couldn’t watch the fight. Being stuck on the sidelines was different than fighting alongside someone. When you were in battle together, you could watch out for each other, protect each other’s backs. In this fight, Tavvy had no one but himself, and she had nothing to do but passively observe. 

          Instead of watching the fight, she watched the fairy. She hadn’t noticed during the first attack, but she saw it during the second: the fairy’s mouth moved right before the attack. Not in anticipation or expectation. She confirmed her conclusion on the third attack. It was a command; the fairy was controlling the monster.

          She made the mistake of glancing at the ring to see the expression on her husband’s face. She knew what he looked like when lost in thought or trying to plan something. He was overthinking his next move, and it was going to get him killed.

          Allison didn’t think. She just moved. “Stay here,” she whispered to Tessa, then ducked further into the trees, then began to follow the curve of the ring. When she was far enough away from the warlocks but not too close to the fairy, she grabbed her stele and activated a Stealth rune. 

          Though Allison had taken the Blackthorn name when she got married, she was born a Brightborn, and neither of those families were known for following the rules. Therefore, she had absolutely no qualms about her actions. 

          She took out her seraph blade. “ _Jophiel_ ,” she whispered. She continued her path further around the ring until she was behind the fairy. She could see over his shoulder, where Tavvy had just botched his defense. The monsters claws were tearing down his sides, but she couldn’t let that distract her. 

          She took a few steps and wrapped her sword arm around the fairy so her seraph blade rested at his throat. He tried to kick back to knock her off balance, but she only pressed the blade harder, drawing a small sliver of blood. She gripped his arm with her other hand. “Don’t move,” she suggested.

          The distraction was enough. The monster had finished raking down Tavvy’s torso, and the absence of another instruction left it at a loss. Tavvy, who still had a grip on his seraph blade, shoved the sword up and into the monster’s belly. He planted his feet and slid himself forward, bringing the blade with him and slicing the monster open.

          By sliding forward, he was able to miss the downpour of blood and organs. He rolled away and visibly winced as he pushed himself to his feet. The monster collapsed onto the floor of the ring, dead.

          Allison removed her hand and the sword from the fairy’s throat, but kept it out in front of him. 

          “You cheat, Nephilim,” the fairy accused.

          “You never said we couldn’t.”

          The fairy thought for a second, then nodded. “I did not forbid it. I congratulate you on your victory.”

          Allison sheathed her blade and ran to her husband to assess his injuries. Magnus and Tessa joined them in the center of the ring. Tavvy placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It’s Mark, isn’t it?”

          “What?”

          “You fake cheated on me with Mark. Raziel, I knew it.”

          “Yeah,”  she agreed as she started drawing iratzes to heal his injuries. “It was the pointy ears and the inability to eat food normally. I couldn’t resist.” She added a Blood Replacement rune. He was clearly delirious.

          "That was good thinking," Tessa praised, "to go for the stomach."

          "I saw that the skin was different while it was tearing me apart."

          “Congrats,” Magnus interrupted. “The thing’s dead, now we can move on.”

          “Yes.” The fairy motioned for them to follow him. “I will lead you to the door.”

          They followed him through the trees along no discernible path before the trees stopped and they found the sewer wall again. In front of them was a large door. The fairy took a key hung on a neck chain out from under his tunic and pulled it over his head. He unlocked the door and twisted the doorknob, opening it for them. 

          “The door will remain open for when you leave.” He gave them a final bow and left back the way they came. 

          Tavvy, Allison, Magnus, and Tessa all exchanged a look and reached a decision. They filed one by one through the door into the next chamber, ready for the next trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the unplanned hiatus is at an end! In all seriousness, Chapter Nine was becoming very long, so I decided to split it up into a few different chapters to make things easier. Hopefully, I will be able to be back on the Friday schedule by next week.


	10. The Vault II: Ghosts and Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 2034, Will and Rafe are stranded in the Catskills. In 1903, Tessa completes the second challenge. Lucie faces her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The echo is a gift, passed on to us by our ancestors many ages ago, to remind us of ourselves. To confirm our existence. To remedy our loneliness. Though we must be still in order to hear it.” -Thomas Lloyd Qualls, Painted Oxen

          The room was dark and full of secrets.

          The room was cold and full of lies.

          The room was dark and cold and full of questions waiting to be answered.

 

**_The Catskills, 2034_ **

          “If I had magic, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Will threw a bundle of sticks down onto the cave floor. They rattled and rolled in a haphazard jumble, some stopping when they hit Rafe’s feet. 

          “Well, _you_ could have brought another magic source or loaded up before we left.”

          “I did load up on magic, but I used it all on that stupid nest.” She kneeled on the ground and began to arrange the sticks into a pile. When she was done, she used her stele to light a Fire rune, igniting the sticks. “And you could have brought your brother, which was the original plan, if you recall. Where is he really?”

          “I told you. He had to meet with a client to deal with an emergency.”

          “And in the real world?”

          Rafe sighed. “He’s on a date.”

          Will nearly fell into the fire, shaking with laughter. “Another date! He missed this mission for a date! No wonder he’s been dodging my calls.”

          Rafe rolled his eyes. “Are you done?”

          “No! Not remotely! Do you Lightwoods always come in pairs? One sibling is an incessant flirt and the other falls down a flight of stairs at the bare mention of a date?”

          “Just because my dad fell down a flight of stairs after a date doesn’t mean I have.”

          “Come on, Rafe, I know you want to trash talk Max as much as I do. Your weirdly repressed sassy side is my favorite.”

          “And your weirdly repressed kind, sweet, and helpful side is my favorite.”

          “It’s my mother’s fault. She used the same parenting strategies for me and three Herondales.”

          Rafe rolled his eyes. Then, he put up his hands in defeat and started to laugh. “Yeah, you win. Herondale parenting trumps Carstairs genes. And Carstairs upbringing. And life as a literal Carstairs.”

          It was Will’s turn to roll her eyes. “And you didn’t happen to pack anything alcoholic in your provision bag, did you?” 

          “I get the point about parental stereotypes. Will-2, Rafe-0.”

          “I always win.” Will plopped down on the floor of the cave and spread out as wide as she could. “If we keep talking about our parents, we’re gonna need a couch.”

          Rafe frowned at her. “We both have great parents. You once told me the worst thing your mom ever did was sing Jessie Carter’s ‘Polyamory’ while making dinner.”

          “I need therapy just for that.”

          “She does it at karaoke night too when she goes out with my Papa.”

          “I don’t like that you know that.”

          Rafe sat on the cave floor next to her. He opened his bag and took out a bag of trail mix. He tossed it to her. “Seriously though, we may not have a couch, but we do have at least a whole night in this cave.”

          She opened the bag and stuffed a handful of nuts and raisins in her mouth. With her mouth full, she teased, “You want to braid each other’s hair and talk about our parents?”

           “No.”

          She swallowed the last of her handful. “Good.”

 

          After twenty-four hours, they gave up on a quick rescue. Whatever failure in tracking spells, or possibly expectation of how long it took to wipe out one nest, they were still in a cave in the Catskills. They had run out of food and were now physically and vocally suffering through bites of small bird cooked over a fire. 

          Will gagged and tossed aside her bird. “I am in hell. Physical hell. I died in that fight and this is hell.”

          “Am I a devil then or your only company?”

          “Both.” Will stretched her feet out closer to the fire. 

          They were quiet for a few minutes before Will spoke again. “They’re chasing ghosts and echoes.”

          “Who?”

          “My parents. Everything they do is either retrospective or a half-step short of it. It’s like everything they did a century and a half ago is echoing back at them now through me. My name, house, and childhood were all a love letter to the years 1873 to 1937.”

          “Max and I were named after people our dads cared about.”

          “But your fathers didn’t spend your entire childhood reminiscing about Raphael Santiago every chance they got.”

          “True.”

          “It’s not just that. I get this impression that my mother has regrets about some of the things she did the first time around. I guess no parent is perfect, but it was almost like she was trying too hard to be.”

          There was nothing for Rafe to do but shrug. “If it helps, I don’t think it was ever her intention to make you feel that way.”

          “Neither do I, but that doesn’t make the result any different.”

          “I suppose you’re right.” 

          Will grinned at him across the fire. “So what’s _your_ biggest insecurity?”

 

          It was the next morning when Max arrived to see what was taking Rafe and Will so long to wipe out one nest. He found them asleep next to each other on the floor of a cave. He set off a small explosion to wake them up. Within twenty seconds, he had two blades at his throat.

          “You asshole!” Will cursed, realizing it was Max. “Where have you been?! I ate bird for dinner last night!”

          Rafe removed his blade from his brother’s throat. “You are never missing a mission ever again. _Ever_.”

***

 

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          The dark was suffocating. It was the kind of dark that decided to take solid form instead of existing only in concept, the way darkness should. Though the door was still open behind them, no light came through it, leaving them in total, complete darkness.

          For a second, Tessa let herself wonder if the dark was the riddle. Only a second because that was when the whispers started. They came from all sides, every angle.  _I have a beginning, but I have no end. I have a mouth and teeth, but I cannot chew._ The whispers were followed by the words themselves, floating letters the only light in the room.

          Tessa reached out a hesitant hand and brushed it against the letters. They whirled around her and circled in tighter, as if they picked her. So, she reached out a hand and picked one of them. 

          The rest of the riddles retreated, leaving the one Tessa chose to stretch out in front of her: _I speak with no mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?_  

***

 

**_London Institute, 1903_ **

          Maybe her mother would smile and let her come with no explanation. That was too much to ask for. Maybe she would actually listen to Lucie’s argument and not fight her too hard. There, much more reasonable. Maybe.

          The walk down the hall felt longer than the descent into hell (though both were supposed to be easy). Lucie had never been afraid of facing her mother before, but she had more to prove now.

          “Lucie!” Tessa exclaimed when Lucie walked in. “How are you feeling?”

          The room was empty except for her. Lucie guessed that everyone else had already gone to change and Tessa was waiting for Will’s return. “Well enough to come with you.”

          Tessa glared at her husband. “William, what did you say to her?”

          Before Will could answer, Lucie cut in, “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I’d already decided I was going.”

          She expected instant refusal and braced for it, but her mother surprised her. “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?” 

          “No.”

          Tessa shook her head, though her expression was amused. “She really is my daughter, isn’t she?” she rhetorically asked Will. 

          “I have no idea why they always compare her to me,” Will replied.

          Now Lucie was very confused. They were so calm, so—it was like they had a mutual realization in the last ten seconds that she had missed. “Do I need to keep defending myself?”

          “I am not going to stop you from coming with us,” Tessa explained, “but I am going to ask you to try and avoid combat.”

          Lucie didn’t understand. “I thought I was going to have to fight you.”

          Tessa sighed. “I don’t know when it started, but our relationship hasn’t been smooth recently, and I don’t want to fight anymore.”

          “Neither do I.” Lucie waited less than a second before she threw her arms around her mother and pulled her into a tight hug. When she pulled away, she glanced over to see the brilliant smile on her father’s face.

          “Do you know why I’m so hard on you?” Tessa asked. 

          “Because I’m wild, improper, and impossible to control?”

          “No, that is why she’s hard on me,” Will interrupted. 

          Tessa laughed. “Not exactly.” She placed a hand on Lucie’s shoulder. “You and I are so alike. You have your father’s eyes and his smile and everyone sees ‘Will Heronale’s daughter,’ but your stubbornness, your resilience, and, yes, your power are all mine. And they have gotten me into so much trouble. I did not want that for you, so I tried to change you. I should not have, and I am sorry for it.”

          “Mam…”

          “The truth is, Lucie, because of what I am, they would all hate you no matter how you behave. All this time, you have been yourself, and you have grown into a strong young woman, while I have been holding you back.”

          “You haven’t been holding me back. Not at all! I’ve been annoyed by certain things, yes, but never actually hindered.”

          Will placed his hand on her other shoulder. “We have been so busy with these time travel and demon summoning problems that we haven’t taken the time to learn what you have about your demonic power.”

          “I promise that after all of this is over, we will sit down and listen to you,” Tessa assured. “We’ll have a conversation, just the four of us.”

          “Oh, because Jamie will react wonderfully to learning I have magic too.” Tessa and Will exchanged a look, but Lucie spoke up again before they could respond. “Wait, how are we getting eight people to Westminster?”

          Will gave her a wicked grin. “Oh I have an idea about that, though I am not sure that our time travelers will like it.”

***

 

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          The riddles that were not Tessa’s vanished into wisps of smoke, throwing the room back into darkness, except for the twenty-two glowing words. Tessa read them over again and again before she even considered what the answer might be.

_I speak with no mouth and hear without ears_. 

          There were featureless phantoms that haunted the far corners of the Spiral Labyrinth, the remains of creatures that became so disfigured by time and lack of energy that they were unrecognizable as humans or warlocks, whatever they had once been.

_I have no body, but I come alive with wind._

          She remembered the ghosts she’d seen: the ones Lucie gave form with a flow of power, the violent ones she’d had to fight when she was still effectively a Shadowhunter, Will’s ghost smiling at her on the day she married Jem. She remembered the way they looked, not alive, just... 

_What am I?_

          “An echo,” she answered. “You are an echo.”

          She heard her answer bounce off the repeat: _echo, echo echo_. Silence settled over the room again and then the sound of a door swinging open in the darkness. 

***

 

**_London Sewers, 1903_ **

          David Jefferson sat on the sewer floor. He’d been there long enough to have memorized the grain pattern of the door to the Vault. It was better seeing in the dark than letting it trick his imagination. He had his fairy heritage to thank for that. 

          He wished he could see the inside of the Vault, find out what had kept his father away from being a father. Then again, if it hadn’t been the Vault, it would have been something else. He was the half-human bastard. 

          The warlock was right, though. He was too injured. He could hardly think without his head hurting. And he kept hallucinating footsteps coming down the tunnel. Footsteps, like anyone who wasn’t insane would be in the sewers. They kept getting louder though.

          He closed his eyes and slumped further down the wall. 

 

          He was jolted awake by a hand grabbing fistfuls of his hair and jerking his head up. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. “Hey! Get off me!” Instead, he was pulled higher.

          His eyes focused on his assailant. She was a young woman wearing a blue cloak. He would have thought her pretty if she wasn’t holding a knife and didn’t have murder in her eyes.

          “You don’t have to do this.” He didn’t beg, just told her. 

          “I do, actually.” 

          She pressed the knife to his throat and slashed. He felt the gush from his neck flow down onto his clothes as she threw him to the ground to bleed out. Before his vision faded, he saw her open the door to the Vault and slip inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the End of Work note is a blatant lie.


	11. The Vault III: The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Rafe, and Max meet the Lightwoods. Magnus attempts the third trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Because of an apple Eden fell and Troy was destroyed.”  
> ― Marty Rubin

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          “Hello.”

          Magnus was temporarily blinded by the sudden sunlight that replaced the unnerving darkness of the second chamber. Sunlight. Was he outdoors? He blinked until his eyes adjusted, and he could look around at his surroundings. 

          He was standing in a garden. Trees as large as redwoods stretched above him. The ground was covered in plants he’d never seen before. Flowers bloomed around him in colors he knew and didn’t. Fruits he didn’t recognize grew from bushes and trees. 

          “Hello.” There was a woman standing across from him, politely waiting. 

          “Hi,” he replied. 

          “This must be disorienting for you. No one’s ever gotten this far. I wasn’t sure how your mind would react.” Magnus couldn’t locate Tessa or the Blackthorns. “Your friends aren’t here. I’m afraid this test is your own.”

          He could feel his mind finally steady. He could focus on the woman now. There was something about her he couldn’t place. He didn’t know her, had never seen her before, but she seemed vaguely familiar. “Where are we?”

          “The garden,” she gave him a friendly smile. “Come, walk with me.”

          Physically, she was ambiguous; he couldn’t place her race or age. He didn’t care if she noticed him studying her while he walked next to her. “You’re not a fairy.”

          “Oh, no. I am human, truly human. Did you know that most humans these days have some form of supernatural ancestry if you go far enough back?”

          “For some of us, you only need one generation.”

          “Yes. Your father. I’ve never had the displeasure of meeting him.”

          “Lucky you.”

          She smiled again, wider this time. “We’ll stop just up there.” She pointed to a clearing up ahead with a large, bountiful fruit tree at its center. A sizable blanket and empty plates were laid out at its base. “Sit.”

          Magnus sat in an empty spot on the blanket. The woman claimed the place across from him. She waved a hand and the plates filled with food.

          “The garden,” he asked, “what is this place?”

          “It’s a memory. The picnic is my own addition. I thought you would appreciate the break.”

          “The guardian of the first challenge didn’t care about our well being.”

          “I’m not a guardian; I’m a prisoner. Very interesting creatures, fairies. They figured out how to trap me here to be their third test. I don’t know why since they don’t avow me.” She paused and studied him. “I don’t know your whole family line, but I’m not sure you avow Lilith at all. Do you know how rare that is, especially for a warlock? She was the mother of the first generation of Lesser Demons. The rest are all descended from her.”

          “How is this relevant?”

          “She’s quite fascinating, the human equivalent of a Fati. They were born angels and became something else in Hell. Lilith was born human and went through the same transformation. I wonder how long you have to spend in Hell before you start to change?” She startled for a second, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit lonely. You should eat. I recommend the fruit.” She pointed above her head.

          “Oh god,” Magnus whispered, hardly more than a breath. “You’re Eve.”

          “Yes.”

          “How? Aren’t you dead?”

          “Death is meaningless. You’ll understand one day.”

          Magnus looked up at the fruit dangling above them. “I suppose I shouldn’t eat that then.”

          Eve shrugged. “Do whatever you like. This place is run by fairy rules, not God’s.”

          At that moment, Magnus didn’t have the mental capacity to consider whether or not Eve had just confirmed the existence of God. That, he would puzzle over much later. In the present, he was too busy thinking that this woman was the mother of humanity and that the fruit above him was calling with the voice of temptation itself.

          He reached up a hand and plucked one. He brought it to his mouth and sank his teeth into the flesh.

***

 

**_London, 1903_ **

          The horses hooves were quieter than Will Carstairs had expected on the wooden paving. She would have guessed they’d make a sound like tap shoes, but there was only a soft clip.

          Will Herondale had taken the place of driver. He would drop them off at the Lightwood mansion then return to the Institute to drive the rest to Westminster. Will Carstairs wasn’t sure why he didn’t just drive them to Westminster then go back for the rest. Or just Portal there. Apparently, he had a fantastical plan about fleeing the scene in a flurry of carriages. Or he just wanted to torture his sister’s family.

          The carriage rolled into the drive where they were greeted by Cecily Lightwood holding a thin piece of paper. “William, what in Raziel’s name did you mean by this message? First my son comes home talking about time travel and demon attacks and then you send me this message about time travelers you ‘want us to meet’ and Westminster!”

          Will Herondale graciously stopped the carriage and let Tessa, Max, Rafe, and Will Carstairs hop out. “I had to be brief in my message.” He handed to reins to a waiting driver then went to introduce his companions. “This gentleman is Rafael Lightwood, a descendant of yours from 2037. I thought you might want to meet him.”

          Cecily looked Rafe up and down. 

          “I was adopted,” he explained, “but yes, I am a Lightwood.” He gestured toward Max. “This is my brother Max, also adopted.” And then toward Will, “and this is my fiancée, Rosemary Graymark.”

          Cecily looked at Will like she recognized her. She gave Tessa a subtle glance then returned to the time travelers. “You should all come inside.” 

          Will Herondale shook his head. He was already moving to retake the carriage reins. “I will not be joining you unfortunately, my dear sister. I have to transport others to Westminster to deal with a cult.”

          Cecily rolled her eyes and let him go. As they walked to the door, she fell into step beside Rafe. “2037, you said?”

          “Yes. We got here via demon summoned Time Portal. Our fault, definitely.”

          The sitting room Cecily led them to was elegantly furnished and occupied by a blond man and the most attractive girl Will had ever seen. “My husband Gabriel. My daughter,” Cecily introduced, “Anna is here even though she lives in her own flat. Anna, these are the time travelers Christopher mentioned.”

          Anna Lightwood was stunning in a way that was uniquely her own. Her black hair was cut short and fell in a way that flattered her features. It was dark enough that it contrasted her green eyes, making them impossible not to notice. Her outfit of pants and a waistcoat gave the casual way she was sprawled over a couch a nearly debauched quality. She caught Will’s gaze and winked.

          Rafe scowled almost imperceptibly, then replaced the look with an incredibly forced smile. “It is my pleasure to meet you. My name is Rafael Lightwood. This is my  _ fiancée _ Rosemary Graymark.”

          Max was covering his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. Will was startled enough to realize what was happening and elbowed Rafe to regain her composure. Cecily, and Tessa swapped amused glances through the entire exchange. Gabriel had no reaction at all.

          After the rest of the introductions, they all sat on various chairs and couches. Tessa took a chair directly across from Cecily and Gabriel. Will, Max, and Rafe were on one couch, slightly separated from the rest, though not enough to cause discomfort. 

          “I guess that this is Will’s attempt to trick me out of my carriage?” Gabriel asked.

          “I believe he wanted to know how you would react to meeting to your descendants. We technically have time before we have to shut down a demon summoning, so Will picked now,” Tessa explained. “And yes, he wants your carriage.”

          “I know it’s 1903 and we have time, but it would definitely take less time to just Portal there and get it over with,” Will cut in, “maybe stop the summoning before it starts.”

          “Oh, that is not how my brother operates.” Cecily laughed. “Why be efficient when you could be dramatic?”

          “Has that gotten him into trouble?” Max asked, though he already knew the answer.

          Everyone in the room who was actually from 1903 had a different yet affirmative reaction. 

          “Yes,” Gabriel replied.

          “It’s been known to,” Tessa agreed at the same time.

          Will couldn’t help but smile. “It was weird meeting him,” she admitted. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about Will Herondale.”

          Cecily gave her a small smile. “I’m sure you have.”

          Anna flashed her eyes at her mother, asking a silent question. Cecily answered with equal subtlety. 

          “How much time should we give him?” Tessa mused, not noticing what passed between the two Lightwoods. “Another ten minutes or so?”

          “Will you require help?” Gabriel asked. “Christopher is at my brother’s, but the three of us could join you.”

          “I could open a Portal for most of us,” Max offered, “and the rest could use the carriage. For the dramatic effect, of course.”

          They agreed. Max, Will, and Rafe left to go prepare the Portal. Anna ran upstairs to change into the spare gear she kept at the mansion. Gabriel stood and walked to the door, then realized his wife wasn’t moving. She gave him a little wave that said not to wait for her. 

          That left Tessa and Cecily sitting across from each other. Tessa was surprised that she had stayed behind, but didn’t ask why. She waited until Cecily spoke: “This must be very strange for you.”

          That surprised her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

          Cecily frowned. “You really have no idea.”

          “No.”

          “Rosemary,” she prompted.

          “A fake name. I am aware.”

          The look Cecily gave her was almost pitying. She hesitated, as if it would be almost better not to break the veil of ignorance, but decided otherwise. “She’s yours, Tessa.”

***

 

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          It’s a strange feeling, being in two places at once, Magnus thought. One half of his consciousness was sitting on a blanket in a garden, taking a bite out of a piece of fruit. The forbidden fruit. The other half was hurtling through space and time, life and death, with visions coming in flashes and waves.

          He saw a world on fire reflect as a world of ice. Alec’s face. Rafe’s hair. Max’s skin. Will Herondale’s eyes. Lucie Herondale floated on air, walking, following the course of a river. Clary Fairchild lay in a field opposite Jace Herondale, splattered with blood or deep red paint. Matthew Fairchild hung, crucified upside down, throat slit. James Herondale kneeled on the floor of the Accords Hall. Wings. Asmodeus stood over him, offering a hand to raise him up or lay him down permanently. 

          Magnus had always had visions and prophetic dreams. The streets of Idris covered in blood. But these were visions, memories, and something else entirely.

          He was suddenly aware that he was not sitting in a garden at all, but standing in a small dark chamber: the third room of the Vault Entrance. He was looking from outside his own body. Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison stood behind him, all frozen in place. 

_           What is this? _

          “It’s the third test.” Eve’s voice echoed throughout his head. 

_           What do I have to do? _

          “What you’ve always done. Endure.”

          Tessa Gray stood illuminated in light but haloed in darkness. She was replaced by Will Carstairs, then Lucie, then James. The darkness spread down like James’s gift until he was nothing but shadow. The shadow stretched out until it encompassed the world. A baby cried. Hell fire cut a path across the shadow—or was it Heavenly fire? Magnus realized he couldn’t tell the difference. 

          A clock ticked behind him. Then again. And again. 

 

          Tick. 

 

          Tock. 

 

          Tick. 

 

          Tock. 

 

          Tick.

          Tock.

          Tick. Tock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick—

          He could feel his heartbeat align with the second hand, but it seemed to be accelerating. He was running out of time, but the clock kept ticking the same second over again. 58, 59, 58, 59...again and again. 

          Is this the way the world will end? He wondered. Darkness and fire. 

          He could feel the juices of the fruit leak down his chin. A drop splashed onto his shirt. It was going to stain. 

          There were hands wrapped around him, holding him underwater. He knew this memory. The deal with his father and then the fire that saved his life and ended his step-father’s. He had relived it many times, so he let it pass. 

          He let them all pass until he was left alone in the void. He floated there for minutes, years, hours. Then he felt something caress his cheek—or nothing. Nothing caressed his cheek. But he still felt  _ something _ . He took a breath to speak, but the nothing was gone.

 

          Magnus removed the fruit from his mouth and found Eve staring at him. “Was that it?” he breathed after a long moment.

          “What did you see?”

          “The destruction of the world, I think.”

          “I saw that too.” She took the fruit from him and hurtled it as far as she could. He didn’t see it land. 

          “Was that it?” he repeated.

          “The trial was to survive the visions without going mad. That’s another thing about fairies, they like instantaneous madness. The kind that creeps in slowly is boring to them.”

          “Is that what happened to you after the fruit?”

          “Just remember, Magnus Bane. There is more than one way to end the world.”

 

          Then he was back in the Vault. He, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison had just stepped into the third chamber, but the door in front of them was open. 


	12. The Vault IV: The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus, Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison enter the Vault itself. The others arrive in Westminster to try and stop the summoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.”   
> ― Terry Pratchett, Thief of Time

**_Lightwood Mansion, 1903_ **

          “You were flirting with my however-many-times great aunt!”

          “She’s 17; I’m not creepy. And she flirted with me!”

          Rafe and Will were bickering like they were already married while Max prepped the Portal spell. It didn’t require more than one person, so he didn’t mind. He liked the mindless rhythm of familiar work. He had asked his Papa—1903-Magnus—for the supplies for a Portal before they’d left the Institute. He’d guessed that something like this would happen. 

          He’d separated the two in his mind: his Papa and the Magnus that he met here. The core was the same, but enough time had passed to make them completely different people. 

          Max had never quite comprehended his own immortality and he wasn’t about to start trying now. The closest he ever came was the day he realized he and Will looked the same age, when he realized he’d stopped aging. There was a larger age difference between he and Will than he and Rafe, but Will had always been his marker of age. Maybe he’d just always felt younger than he actually was. 

          He’d never had feelings for her, not the way Rafe did. She was his best friend and his refuge from anything and everything he wanted to hide from. They would have been parabatai if he had been an actual Shadowhunter. They’d even gotten matching tattoos of the rune. Technically sacrilege, but they didn’t care. 

          It had been so easy to figure out the change in their relationship. He’d seen the look on Rafe’s face after he’d found them in the Catskills. He knew it would work out and it had made him so happy that she would finally actually be family. But it had been Tavvy, not Will or Rafe, who had first told him. He’d known, but it still hurt. When they finally told him, he congratulated them then found every instance to make fun of them. All because of how much he loved them.

          “Max.” Will was waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you done?”

          “You know as much about making Portals as I do. Am I done?”

          “I meant done with your weird trapped in your own thoughts moment.”

          “Yes.”

          Meeting his own father in 1903 had shaken something deep in Max’s core. He loved Rafe and Will more than anyone, even his own parents. And one day he was going to lose them.

***

 

**_The Vault Entrance, 1903_ **

          Tessa replayed the last minute in her mind. She had walked from the second chamber to the third. The room was empty except for a closed door opposite them. Then, in the span of a moment, the door was open, but it had never opened. 

          She turned to see if her companions had any ideas and found Magnus staring at the open door with a disoriented expression on his face. “Are you all right?”

          Magnus startled then gave a weak smile. “Fine. Let’s go.”

          “Go?” Allison asked. “What about the last trial?”

          Tessa studied Magnus for another moment. “It was already completed. Wasn’t it?”

          “I did it. Let’s go.” He started for the door. Tessa, Tavvy, and Allison all exchanged a glance and followed. Tessa decided she would ask him about it later.

          While the Vault Entrance still showed signs of its location in the sewer, the Vault was a new world entirely. It was larger than should have been possible and the wall behind Tessa, Magnus, Tavvy, and Allison was made of smooth stone. In front of them was rows and rows of shelves stocked full of magical items. There was no apparent order to the shelves’ contents. 

          They split up to different aisles down the row. Tessa’s was full of books, gemstones, and a collection of crystal skulls. She could see Magnus two aisles over through the gaps, examining gemstones. He picked one up, studied it, and then tucked it in his pocket. He saw her watching and shrugged. “It’s mine. I lost it in the 1790s.”

          Once they cleared the rows and rows of shelves, they came upon a fully stocked armory with dozens of suits of armor, as well as the weapons. These were ordered and labelled. “Excalibur,” Tessa whispered, failing to resist the urge to run a finger down the legendary blade. She hadn’t known it was real.

          They moved farther in, splitting up again when they reached each new section. The Vault appeared to have everything except the Staff. They passed a section filled entirely with cursed volumes of the Gray Book. Another was occupied entirely by a cross that claimed to be the one Jesus was crucified on. 

          “Magic wands,” Tavvy guessed, examining a set of display cases. “The Staff could qualify.”

          Magnus shrugged. “Worth a try.”

          Most magic wands were utterly useless. They were con artists’ tools and mundanes’ attempts to get magic. The only real magic wands Tessa had ever heard of were all carved from the same enchanted tree in what was now Ireland. She had no idea if any of these wands were real or how they worked. 

          “Guys,” Allison spoke up. “Over here.”

          “Did you find the Staff?” Tavvy called.

          “Not exactly.”

          Tessa left her shelf of wands to join Allison. The sign said “The Staff of Àchristos,” but the stand was empty. “Where’s the Staff?”

          “It’s gone.”

          “Someone beat us to it? How?” Tavvy waved his hand through the empty space as if to test that the Staff wasn’t invisible.

          Magnus shook his head. “We were the first ones to beat the three trials. No one else could have gotten here.”

          “Unless the fairies moved it,” Tavvy suggested.

          “Why would they do that?” Allison asked.

          “They’re fairies. I don’t know. Maybe they knew we were coming after it.”

          Lost in the confusion, none of them noticed the shelf of wands behind them start to rock, tip, and then fall over on top of them. 

          Tessa felt the hardwood hit her back and her front hit the floor a second later. She had enough training and instinct to go limp to prevent more damage to herself. After a second on the ground, she inhaled and judged how much resistance the shelf gave. It could have been worse. She flipped her hands over and sent a burst of power knocking the shelf up and sent it flying backwards. It knocked over the shelves behind it, but she didn’t care.

          She pushed herself to her feet. Beside her, Magnus, Tavvy, and Allison were all in various stages of the same thing. She turned around in time to see a flash of blue before it slipped out of sight. 

          She ran. Her friends could recover on their own. She wanted answers. 

          The flash of blue was a person wearing a blue cloak and holding what Tessa guessed was the Staff of Àchristos. She waved a hand and the contents of the shelves in front of them fell off, blocking the way. 

          The Follower of Amalia turned around and raised the Staff. “You should think before you threaten me.” She gestured to the Staff with her head. “I can do whatever I want to you.”

          Tessa summoned balls of light into her palms. “And I you.”

          “I killed your friend the half-fairy. It wouldn’t be hard to kill you too.”

          David Jefferson was dead. She could be bluffing, but Tessa doubted it. “I’m harder to kill than an injured man.”

          The Follower shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m better armed now.”

          Tessa changed tactics. “How did you get in here? You didn’t complete the trials.”

          “They left the doors open for you to leave. Anyone could have followed you.”

          Shit. 

          The first guardian had said the doors would stay open and Tessa hadn’t given it a second thought. She hadn’t even considered that they could be followed. But then again, they were dealing with the  _ Followers _ of Amalia.

          She switched tactics again. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand over the Staff.”

          “And why would I do that?”

          “Because whatever you’re planning to do with it is going to cause more harm than good, and I’m the one who’s going to have to clean up your mess.” Either her or the 1903 version of her. 

          The Follower pointed the Staff at Tessa. “I could kill you with a thought.”

          So could she. “You have no idea how to properly use that.”

          “You warlocks are elitist.” The Follower fired a bolt of energy at Tessa. She blocked it easily, but it still pushed her back. It a blast of raw energy, likely the only thing the Follower could conjure without practice. 

          While Tessa was distracted, the Follower turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. She let her go. Their conversation had taken enough time for Tessa’s magic to get a read on the woman’s energy and the Staff’s. It was enough for her track. She just hoped the Follower didn’t cause too much trouble before she could. 

          Tessa returned to her friends. Magnus was crouched over Tavvy, using magic on his leg. Allison was sitting next to her husband, holding his hand. “Is anyone badly hurt?”

          “Nope,” Tavvy hissed. “Just a broken ankle.”

          “Soon to be not-broken,” Magnus corrected.

          “Our attacker was a young woman, one of the Followers of Amalia I’d guess. She has the Staff, but I can track her.” She paused. “She claimed she killed David Jefferson.” 

          “Do you think she did?” Allison asked.

          “I guess we’ll find out,” Tessa replied.

          Magnus removed his hands from Tavvy’s ankle. Allison pulled Tavvy to his feet. He tested the ankle and smiled. “Good as new. And faster than an iratze.” 

          They walked back through the three Entrance chambers. As they passed through each one, the door closed behind them. They really had been open the entire time. A serious design flaw, Tessa thought. 

          They found David Jefferson with his throat slit. Magnus bent down and closed his eyes. “We should move him.” The rest agreed.

          They carried him into the first chamber of the Vault Entrance and laid him down on the dirt path. “The fairies will take care of him. Let’s get out of this sewer.”

***

 

**_Lightwood Mansion, 1903_ **

          Will had transitioned from bickering with Rafe to bickering with Max when Anna arrived. 

          “Is the Portal ready? My parents are talking to the nanny, and they’re taking the carriage, so we only have to wait for—” Anna was cut off by Tessa’s arrival. She was staring into space while she walked, as if deep in thought. “Aunt Tessa,” she finished.

          Tessa didn’t react at all to her name. She kept staring at nothing. 

          “Are you feeling all right?” Will asked.

          That shook Tessa out of her state. She looked up at Will and blinked. “Sorry, I was… nevermind.” 

          “If we’re all here, then we should go,” Max interrupted. “The others will be arriving in Westminster any time now.”

          “Right,” Tessa agreed, but she was still watching Will. 

          She knows, Will realized. Her mother had figured out who she was. Or Cecily had told her. She hadn’t missed the looks and little smiles Cecily had given. She’d figured it out immediately when no one else had. No one. Maybe everyone else was either too close or too distant, Will guessed. Cecily was close enough to know both her parents personally, but not too close to think she was just imagining her desperate hopes had come true.

          “Everyone have a clear idea of where we’re going?” Max asked. “We don’t want anyone to get lost in Portalspace.”

          “I’m sorry. Lost in what?” Anna interjected.

          “The space in between Portals,” Will explained. “Don’t worry about it.”

          Anna shook her head. “Christopher is going to kick himself for not being here.”

          “So everyone is confidant they won’t get lost?” Max clarified.

          “I think we’re all fine,” Rafe reassured him. “The only question is who’s going first?”

          “I will go first.” Tessa approached the Portal. “Bridget told me exactly where their headquarters are. I can get us to the most exact location. The rest of you will follow.” She turned to Max. “Will you have to stay to close the Portal?”

          “No. We’ve made improvements in the last century. It’ll close automatically behind us.”

          Tessa smiled. “I think you’re going to have to meet with both Christopher and Henry before you return home.” 

          “Probably,” Will agreed.

          The smile Tessa gave her was slightly uncomfortable. She lingered, looking at Will for another moment before she stepped into the Portal. 

          Anna went next, leaving Will, Max, and Rafe alone. Rafe reached a hand out to touch Will’s arm. “What was that look?”

          “I think she figured out who I am.” She slipped her hand into Rafe’s. “We can deal with it later. Let’s go.” She pulled him toward the Portal. They went through it together. After a moment, Max followed them, and the Portal closed behind him.

***

 

**_Westminster, London, 1903_ **

          James Herondale was getting out of the carriage outside the Followers of Amalia’s Headquarters when his mother stepped out of a Portal five yards to his left. He was less surprised than he should have been when his cousin Anna appeared next. 

          Will Herondale frowned. “We had a plan.”

          “Don’t worry, William,” Tessa reassured him. “Cecily and Gabriel are bringing the carriage. You can still have your dramatic exit.”

          Anna joined James and Lucie. “Christopher is with Thomas.”

          James nodded. “I’m not sure that blowing up the place would help us out very much,” he said completely deadpan. 

          Anna and Lucie exchanged a glance. “Is he making jokes now?”

          Lucie shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on with him either. Brothers, you know.” James ignored them.

          Will Carstairs and Rafe, followed by Max, came out of the Portal. They joined the group quietly. Everyone looked expectantly at Will Herondale. He grinned. “Let’s go.”

          James had listened while Bridget explained the building’s interior, and which hallways they would have to use to find the large chamber, so there were no problems finding it. No one was in the halls, so they didn’t have to worry about fighting or noise either. There was no door on the entrance to the main room, just an elaborately painted archway, which allowed them to slip inside.

          It was hard to see. The room was crowded with women in blue robes, all focused on one who stood, chanting, at the center of the mass. They could see the crowd move as another woman moved through the crowd, holding something long at her side they couldn’t see. When she reached the center, all movement stopped until something was raised above the crowd.

          “That’s the Staff,” Max whispered, just loud enough for them all to hear. “No question. I’ve been studying it for weeks. We have to get the Staff away from her. She can’t do the summoning without it.”

          Will Herondale took charge. “We’ll surround them as best we can. If anyone has a clear shot at getting the Staff, take it. If not, we’ll move in at once. Lucie, stay out of it.” Lucie rolled her eyes. 

          They crept around the edges, far enough back and quiet enough to avoid notice. Either that, or the women were so entranced by the ritual they forgot the rest of the room. James estimated how many women there were. He couldn’t tell. The robes hid their individual shapes, so they all blurred together, creating the illusion of one giant blue being. There were also no gaps. How anyone in the back could see, James had no idea.

          Lucie was sticking close to him, probably looking for an excuse to join the fight no matter what their parents said. He gave her a light warning look. She made a face in return.

          Traditional stealth wasn’t getting them anywhere, so he sank into the shadows, becoming one with them. It felt like an unbecoming, his transformation, like being unmade. He wondered if this was what ghosts felt like. He’d never asked.

          His parents were going to kill him if this didn’t work. 

          James charged into the crowd. There were lights, so his shadowform was not entirely invisible, but they would have guessed someone was there anyway, what with the being shoved aside. Some of them shrieked as they all stumbled into each other. He raced to the center of the crowd. He was there before he realized that Lucie had followed him. 

          His parents were going to kill him anyway.

          He recognized Abigail. She was standing at the bottom point of a large adorned pentagram. She held the Staff high above her head while she chanted. She wasn’t chanting in English or any demon language. Ancient Greek, maybe? She had to know that wasn’t necessary; it was just dramatic. 

          He shifted back into his visible form. Lucie stepped up beside him. Abigail stopped her chant and lowered the Staff. “Stop this, Abigail,” he warned. “Summoning a demon will only lead to trouble.” 

          She laughed in reply.

          “You don’t have to finish the ritual,” Lucie continued James’s plea. “Just hand over the Staff and let us take care of the rest.”

          Abigail laughed again. “I can’t do that.”

          “You can,” Lucie urged. She stretched out her arm to take the Staff. James didn’t possess that kind of optimism. Instead, he moved his hand imperceptibly closer to his pistol. 

          Abigail opened her mouth to respond when the pentagram began to glow. The candles placed around it brightened, and the flames leapt, threatening to burn them. James and Lucie exchanged a quick look before the fire returned to an ordinary height. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the demon appeared in the center of the pentagram. 

          Chaos broke out in the surrounding crowd. Though he couldn’t see it, James guessed the rest of his allies were trying to break through to the center, but the women were holding them back. 

          He refocused on the demon. It was smiling at him, seeming to not notice Abigail at all, though she was the one who summoned it. He stared James down with yellow eyes, just a few shades off from James’s own. 

          “I was wrong before,” James whispered to Lucie, “blowing up the place sounds very good about now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am sorry about all the delays. Here's my rough timeline for the next few months. I plan to finish writing by the end of January. There is not going to be a set schedule, and I am so sorry about that. I packed all the important Junior year of college classes into one semester, and it's taking up all of my free time. In short, I will do what I can until the end of the semester, and I plan to finish before the start of Spring semester.


	13. The Staff of Àchristos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of the Staff is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The End of the World awaits, for all your bitter kind” -Virgin Steele, “Childslayer”

**_Excerpt from The Warlock Wars: 530 - 487 BC_ **

          The decade after the Second Warlock War was a period of rising tensions. The Second Warlock War officially ended in 498 BC with the death of Theodotos Omorfi. However, instead of advancing further to defeat Theodotos’s remaining allies, Nikandros Kako’s allies took their victory as definite. 

          This gave Theodotos’s followers a chance to retreat and regroup. Those who remained active, lead by Ireneus Skotadi, spent two years in Athens researching ways to boost their magic: deals with demons, sources of magic within the earth, and purification rituals, to name a few. 

          At the start of the third year, they were approached by a man who claimed to be a human magician named Kallias. He told them he heard they were looking for ways to strengthen their power, and he suggested they look to magic users who do not possess magic of their own. He told them that he had spent time in the south and the east learning from the ifrits. 

          At this point, I should take a step back and revisit the reasons why the First Warlock War started. In 530 BC, a group of warlocks began to murder less powerful warlocks. Their leader, Nikandros, preached a doctrine of species purity. He was claimed to be the son of Belial (or Asmodeus in other writings), one of the Nine Princes of Hell. He recruited other powerful warlocks by claiming that less powerful warlocks were an insult to the species and should be killed. 

          Theodotos was the first and the most well-known of Nikandros’s opposers. The more violent Nikandros’s followers became, the more Theodotos urged his own to fight. By 519 BC, knowledge of the two sides had spread over the entire Balkan peninsula, and the war officially began. 

          When confronted with the opportunity to work with ifrits, Ireneus agreed because of his belief in equality between warlocks of all power levels. Ifrits are the children of a human mother and a demon father who possess no natural warlock magic. Especially in the Middle East, ifrits prefer to identify themselves with the djinn and often find homes in djinn communities.

          So, Ireneus and the other leaders traveled east to find the ifrits Kallias studied with. When they arrived, they told them their purpose and who had sent them. The ifrits agreed to help, but, as for the magician who recommended them, they knew him as Àchristos. He had studied with them for a time but had been cast out after he suggested that magical items could be made by draining the life force of a warlock and with it, their magic. 

***

 

**_Excerpt from A History of Magical Items_ **

          Many magical items were made during the three Warlock Wars. Most were used as reserves for warlocks, if they became drained in battle. Others were created to power rituals without the warlocks using their own magic or given to ifrits and human magicians who fought beside them. 

          Most magical items were either found, or created by warlocks who drained their own power into the item. The warlock would then heal and their magic would recharge. This gave the army twice as much power as they originally had. The process was then repeated.

          In the short period between the Second and Third Warlock Wars, an inventor named Àchristos proposed a way to create more powerful magical items. Àchristos had been ostracized both politically and from various groups of ifrits and human magicians because of violent behavior, though he found a home among a group looking for a quick solution to the wars: to kill Nikandros and wipe out his most powerful allies. 

          Àchristos’s first suggestion was to capture warlocks who followed Nikandros and hold them as experiments and living factories to produce magical items. His experiments included refillable objects and expanded capacities that held two or three warlocks worth of power. The  Kýpello tis Mageías (anglicized, meaning Cup of Magic) and the Spathí tis Exousías (anglicized, meaning Sword of Power) were created in this manner. 

          Àchristos’s final suggestion while working with this group was that warlocks had magic, not just because they could use it, but because they  _ were _ magic, and that magic could be exploited. A warlock’s magic and natural ability to recharge came from their life force. If the life force of a warlock or multiple warlocks could be drained and used to power a magical item, they could create the most powerful magical item ever created. As long as the life force remained, it would be able to renew its own magic. It would be the magical item equivalent of a warlock and the wielder would, for all intents and purposes, become a warlock while they held the item. 

          There is no definite proof that such an item was ever successfully created, though certain threads of evidence suggest that one was: The Staff of Àchristos. Whether the Staff received its name because it was created by Àchristos or simply named after his idea is also unknown. There was, however, the sequence of events as follows:

          First, three high-profile members of Nikandros’s inner circle disappeared, Seftiki Prospeso, Onoma Lirosis, and Klironomos Thysia. Prospeso and Lirosis’s bodies were found a few weeks apart. Klironomos Thysia was never found. 

          Second, the Third Warlock War ended abruptly in 487 BC, less than one year after it began, when Nikandros was eviscerated in battle, though there had been no sign of any direct attack on him. 

          Third, Àchristos was only ever seen again once. He was sited at the destruction of the village of Katorae with a large stick, presumed to be the Staff. 

          Fourth, five centuries later, an extremely powerful magical item was found in a private collection. The owner claimed it was the Staff of Àchristos. It was used by Orvian the Wise to summon the demon Kronos. It was never seen again.

          If the Staff is what it claims to be, then it is a source of incredible power. In the wrong hands, it could be used for great destruction.

***

 

**_Aegean Coast, 4th Century BC_ **

          It was not in the nature of demons to mourn. Or maybe it was, and they were all just being lied to. Maybe it was not in the hearts of angels to mourn and they brought that apathy with them when they Fell. Those who were older, those who remembered the Void before Lucifer brought order to the chaos, were they different?

          There was nothing of violence in the chaos. The violence was born out of anger from the oppression by the angels. Rage. He did not remember rage in the chaos. Rage came after.

          It was either rage or grief or utter desolation that brought Kronos to the Aegean coast because there was nothing left. There was not even a body left to burn or bury or hold. There was nothing left of what had been his son. A brilliant soul, a life force reduced to a stick of wood and metal. For what? For power? To perpetuate a cycle of violence?

          There had been nothing to destroy in the chaos. The chasm. The void. It was the void that Kronos wished for now as he waded into the water. When it reached his chest, he lay back and stared up at the stars cluttering the sky. He damned them. 

          It had been day when they killed his son. The sun was out so he could not intervene. He wondered if the man had done that on purpose. The man. Àchristos. He and his friends had kidnapped his son on the streets, immobilized him, and dragged him to their ritual. They had killed the other two first, failures dumped on the streets. There had been no body left to dump when they were done with using his son for their ritual. It had crumpled to ash when they pulled out his life force.

          Kronos thought about his son’s name. Klironomos Thysia. It wasn’t the name he had been born with, but the one he chose, as if he knew his fate. To die in agony for someone else’s gain.  

          Kronos had arrived once the sun set. He had kneeled in the center of the ritual circle and run his hands through the ash. As it slipped through his fingers, his scream was raw and broken.

          He snapped out of his memory. It was too much. He propelled himself forward, deeper into the sea. 

          There was an oracle in Delphi. He walked for days to reach her, to ask her... he didn’t know what he would ask her, at first. The further he walked, the rage simmered and steeped inside him. There was only one thing he wanted to know. How to end it all.

          “Why do you mourn your son?” she had asked him when he fell at her feet. “The legends say you eat your children.”

          He ignored her. “How?” he asked instead. “How do I destroy the world?”

          She had smiled at him, neither compassionate nor cruel. “It is not your place to end the world.”

          “Then who? When?”

          “You are the titan of time. When is your dominion.” She studied him carefully. “Or it will be.”

          He didn’t understand. His titles were titles, nicknames given by humans. He couldn’t control time. 

          “One day you will,” she replied to his thoughts. He hated oracles. 

          “Then, who? Who destroys the world?”

          She told him. Then left, leaving him still on the floor of her cave. “I don’t understand!” He shouted after her. “I. Don’t. Understand.” 

          But he did understand, deep down in the darkest depths of his mind. This was not the purpose of his rage. His grief. His utter desolation. 

          Kronos saw the first traces of day appear in the sky above the Aegean Sea. As the sun rose, he waited, waited. The sun burned his skin, his clothes, his whole body. The void was what he wanted, so to the void he would return. He would be back for the end of the world. But not now.

          Not yet.

***

 

**_Somewhere on Earth, 1st Century AD_ **

          Time did not pass in the void the same way it did outside it. He could have ventured into other parts of the hell realms, but any charm they’d had for him was lost now. So he floated in the void, and he waited.

          The force that pulled him out was as strong as it was unwelcome. He couldn’t fight it. It carried him from the comfort of the void and he landed on his feet inside a pentagram. “Why?” he sighed before he even saw his summoner. 

          There were two men standing before him. One was a warlock with fish scales trailing up his arms from his hands. The other appeared to be human

          “Kronos.” It was the human. He clapped his hands together. “ _ The _ demon Kronos. It worked, Hargrave. It worked.”

          Kronos blinked at them, trying to piece together the scene. Hargrave was the warlock, he guessed. They were inside a room that looked like a library. The walls were lined with shelves and there was a desk in one corner. Kronos turned back to the men, ready with another taunt, then stopped. 

          “Kronos. The demon titan. The lord of time. The killer of Aeneas the Great. I am humbled to stand in your presence.” The human bowed. 

          “What is that? What are you holding?” He already knew, but he asked anyway.

          “This? This is a thing of beauty: the Staff of Àchristos. I used it to power the summoning.”

          Kronos’s vision glazed over. He couldn’t see anything but the outline of the wood and metal Staff. “You used it? You have a warlock with you and you used that?” He could not find words for the rage or grief or desolation that gripped him now, stronger than it had been even right after his son’s death. 

          The man’s face split into a wide grin. “This could be the key to my success! A way for us, for humans, to do magic without relying on warlocks. The power,” he broke off, then started again. “We could end the ill treatment of humans by Downworlders. No longer will we be treated as weak or livestock or fodder. Humanity can be just as powerful as warlocks!” His eyes had a crazed look to them. They glinted too bright. 

          Another wave of rage washed over him. It was rage this time, there was no question about it. He nudged the edge of the chalk circle that was supposed to bind him. The chalk parted, and he let out a little breath of annoyance. He wasn’t sure when this symbol had become a prison. Had it been the Christians? The Shadowhunters? It used to represent creation. Regardless, it wasn’t a prison that could hold him.

          “Do you know anything about that Staff? What was used to create it?”

          “I don’t,” the man laughed. “And I don’t care.”

          “Orvian,” the warlock cautioned. “Be careful.”

          The man snapped. “The only thing that matters is that I have it! It’s mine!” The warlock stepped back, as if in fear. “I am Orvian the Wise! I found it! I used it!” Paranoia broke through in his voice. “You can’t take it away from me!”

          Kronos stepped over the chalk line. “Murder made that Staff.”

          Orvian laughed again. “Anyone who died making that Staff was a worthy sacrifice. A good death, to die to make other men great. I guess they were sinners, who repented at the very end to redeem themselves.”

          Kronos didn’t understand. How was death redemption? His son had been slaughtered like a sacrificial goat. 

          He reached out and knocked the Staff out of Orvian’s hands. He wrapped his own around the man’s neck and squeezed. Orvian’s eyes bulged. He struggled under Kronos’s grip until he stopped and went slack. Kronos released him and the body fell to the floor. 

          “Please,” the warlock said from behind him. “I told him not to.”

          Kronos turned to the warlock, appraising. Had his son had the same fear in his eyes before Àchristos killed him? “Take this as a warning.” 

          He grabbed the Staff and he left the library. He walked until he left the building entirely. The moon lit the grounds of the mansion, and Kronos walked down the path away from the house. 

          When he was far enough away, he set the Staff down on the ground. He should destroy it. It was an abomination that shouldn’t exist. He reached out and grabbed a rock. He held it up over the Staff. 

          But he couldn’t.

          It was all he had left. 

          Kronos didn’t know if his son’s soul had ceased to exist or was trapped in the Staff or had passed to whatever came for humans hereafter. But he couldn’t destroy the last piece he had left of his son.

          There were fairies who kept objects hidden where no one could find them. That was what he had to do, give the Staff to a fairy to keep it safe. No one would ever find it, ever use it. He could ensure it was safe. That his son was safe.

***

 

**_Somewhere on Earth, 2037_ **

          Kronos sat on a bench in a city he could not name that was unlike any other he had ever been in. He guessed that Earth cities were all like this now. It had been some time since he had been in this dimension. The city was too bright. Artificial lights gave the false impression of day. He was already light sensitive as a demon.

          A small patch of the light was blocked by a man who sank down onto the bench beside him. He glanced over at Kronos’s obviously inhuman traits and shrugged. “Have you ever had a problem you couldn’t solve?”

          “Yes,” Kronos replied.

          “I work, well, I work somewhere I shouldn’t, technically. I’m not even allowed to know where it is, even though I work there. I have no idea why they keep me around. I have ‘good ideas’ or something. I don’t know. I mostly just make sure no one dies and occasionally pitch in something, but my team keeps telling me I’m their leader. I’m not good with this kind of responsibility.”

          Kronos wasn’t really sure what was going on. “You know I’m a demon?” he asked, though he really meant: you don’t care that I’m a demon?

          The man bared his teeth, showing fangs. The man—the vampire—said, “Some say I’m a monster too. And I spend a great deal of time with warlocks. As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I could use an ear.”

          It was a strange expression, but Kronos understood his meaning. “Warlocks aren’t demons.”

          “No,” he agreed.

          “You wanted to say something?”

          The vampire shrugged. “I was saying that I work somewhere I shouldn’t. Well, I’m working on a problem right now, an impossible one. I have to find an answer.”

          “If it’s impossible, then how do you know there is an answer?”

          “Because somebody else solved it before me. Or has an instinctual ability…” he trailed off as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Once you start messing with time, things get very complicated. As far as I know, I might be the first one to ever solve it, and anyone else just learned how to do it after I did.”

          “Time?” Kronos asked.

          “Time travel. Moving people and objects through time via Portal. Opening up a bridge between two connected points in time. Ever heard of anyone doing it?”

          “Only in stories.”

          “Great for my confidence.” He shook his head. “Good to know demons tell stories. Any of them ever tell you the secret of how to do it?”

          “No.”

          “I’ve been working on this for close to four months, and I haven’t had any success. I’m open to any new suggestion, at this point. Demons use Portals, not like the ones warlocks or Shadowhunters use, but still Portals. How do yours work?”

          “I don’t know,” Kronos admitted. He tried to think. “The Portals are made of runes, but we don’t have to draw them or cast any organized magic.”

          “What sort of runes?” The vampire had perked up, looking more interested now than he ever had before. “What do they look like? Do they have other uses?”

          “I really don’t know,” Kronos repeated. “I’m not involved in anything… I don’t know anything.”

          “I’ll have to do my own research then.” He ran a hand through his hair again.

          “Why do you need to travel in time?” Kronos asked, though he wasn’t sure why.

          “I don’t, but friends of mine do. I have to help them out. Why?”

          “So you wouldn’t use it and go back in time to change something?”

          “I don’t think it’s possible to actually change the past, just create alternate universes, where events went differently. Or an alternate universe where you were there in the past.”

          “And once you create that universe, you can go back to it?” Kronos imagined a world where his son was alive, where there was another Kronos who had not lost everything. Maybe that was why he asked. 

          “Hopefully.”

          “And, do you think you could create a better world, if you changed the past?” 

          “I didn’t know demons philosophized. But I think not. A friend of mine likes to say that things always happen the way they’re supposed to, and it will all work out in the end, even if the path seems hard or hopeless where you are now. Changing the past wouldn’t fix the world, just create new problems.”

          Kronos considered that. The oracle’s words rattled through his head:  _ It is not your place to end the world _ . He thought about what she had told him after. Maybe it wasn’t his place to end the world, but to set things in motion. Could there be a purpose to his son’s death after all?

          “If you had the choice, would you go back in time and stop yourself from becoming a vampire?” It was the closest he could come to vocalizing what he was thinking, without going too close. 

          “No,” the vampire answered immediately. “I was, well, I was a mess before I was a vampire. At first, I might have. And it has been hard. I’ve lost the people closest to me. They all grew old without me, but, in the end, I’m better for it.”

          “You lost the people closest to you and you still think you’re better off?”

          “Yes. I miss them every day, but I have to believe that there’s a reason for everything that’s happened.” He glanced at his wrist and abruptly stood. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m late. Thank you. This has helped me more than you could know.”

          It had helped Kronos too, more than this vampire could ever know. 

          The vampire left him alone on the bench, staring at the glaring city lights in silence. Was it best to move on from his son’s death, to find a purpose? He had declared he would be back for the end of the world. Was the answer in creating a new world? Helping to destroy this one? 

          Someone was running towards him. It was the vampire, though he came from the opposite direction as he had left. He was wearing different clothes, Kronos realized, and he looked brighter somehow. He was holding something in his hand. A paper?

          “I did it,” the vampire declared. “Demon runes were the key.” He held out the paper for Kronos to take. 

          He did. “What is this?”

          “It’s a Time Portal. Or, at least, the instructions on how to make one. I had a feeling I needed to give it to you, not just because you helped me figure it out, but because you should have it.” He looked the demon over. “Just, please don’t do anything too terrible with it.”

          “I won’t,” Kronos heard himself say, but he was already thinking. The oracle had said time would be his dominion. Was it possible his titles weren’t honorary, but just based on things he hadn’t done yet? What would happen if there were two different versions of him in one time? If he were on Earth while his other self was in the void, would he be summoned while his other self was not? 

          Interest and purpose sparked inside him for the first time in millennia. He needed to do research. He needed to find out what his purpose was. What had the oracle meant went she told him who would end the world. Who were they? Was he supposed to initiate it, start it? Stop it? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? No he had been given that information for a reason. Everything had happened for a reason. 

          And once he knew everything he could. He would do what he had to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to update one chapter per week, every Friday. So, tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel.


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